


Backwards and Forwards

by Draskireis



Series: The Two Generals Problem [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Defense Mechanisms, Extensive Backstory, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Alternating, enemies to friends still (mostly friends by this point), mental health, mostly canon-compliant, occasional hockey, occasionally fast and loose with canon, supportive friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-03-25 20:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 67,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13841973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draskireis/pseuds/Draskireis
Summary: They weren't friends yet, in their Freshman spring, and initial misimpressions persisted.  They were something, though, and they knew that they at least ought to have each other's backs.





	1. Chapter 1

The drive up from outside Waldoboro to Samwell took four-ish hours.  It felt like surfacing after being pitched off the side of a boat in a storm.  Bad metaphor, he thought, or at least unfortunate.  Dex—even if he was William at home, or sometimes Billy—took the drive gently.  He’d left early and had all day.  The dorms didn’t even open until three, and practices didn't start until classes did on Monday.  Plenty of time to figure out why it felt like the _end_ of the break was going home, not the beginning of it.

Part of it, Dex thought as he pumped gas into his truck on the outskirts of Hampton, was that his family treated him like he was still the kid who’d left a few months before.  Their worlds hadn’t changed; why should his have?  Siobhan had stayed home while she was in classes at Kennebec, despite the hour-ish commute.  They were on track to graduate around the same time, if she kept up her half-time schedule.  To the extent she’d changed, it’d happened gradually and with everyone around.

This was like culture shock on both sides.  No one knew how to handle it gracefully.

Everyone had been excited to see him, and he’d been happy to see them, too.  Wanted to hear all about how ‘Leen was liking high school and tease her about (assumed) boys.  His family, by turn, wanted to hear all about everything Outta State.  They teased him about sounding like he was from theah rather than heah.  They asked about his hockey fights, and what had happened that caused the really bad one that Nurse might still not have forgiven him for.  He didn’t tell them about that one.

Dex drove into Massachusetts as the snow started.  He felt that unsettled yearning already—hell, he’d been homesick like that while they’d been opening stockings.  As much of a relief as it was that James had held Christmas with his family this year, it had been weird being the only boy there for the Poindexter Christmas.  There were pieces missing, and Dex was pretty sure that puzzle would never fit together in the same way.

The snow picked up, and Dex had to focus more on driving and less on ruminating.  He cranked up Guster and drove.  It was coming down thick by the time he got to the student lots, and he lugged his duffel through the snow.  When he got back to his room, he saw that Andrew wasn’t back yet.  Not surprising, but also not unpleasant.  He unpacked in peace.

 

The group chat had mostly been quiet for couple days—the occasional pic of an airport or an announced departure, but nothing like the slow boil it had been over break.  Jack’s announcement of shinny on the Pond shattered that silence.  Dex’s pocket buzzed regularly as he made his way over to Faber to get changed into everything but skates.  It was weird to walk around in hockey gear and sneakers, but he was personally almost certain Jack would turn the Pond-skate into some sort of practice.

Most of the team was assembled by the time Dex arrived.  Chowder was gushing over the Pond and its frozen state while Nursey chirped him for it.  Californians never knew what to do with snow, but god _damn_ they were always happy to see it.  A photographer from the Daily was snapping pictures of the team.  Bitty was passing around one of several thermoses of hot chocolate.  Of course.

Holster demanded that Bitty do a jump to show off for the paper.

Dex sat down on someone’s empty hockey bag—seriously, someone had fucking changed right at the Pond?  Odds on it was Shitty’s bag, then—near the other Frogs.  Chowder waved excitedly at him, a teal-and-silver grin flashing at him.  Nursey offered him a hand up once his skates were on, and only used it to pull him into a bro-hug.

Bitty skated around the Pond a few times, increasing his pace as he did so.  On the third lap, he turned around so he was skating backwards.  Even though Dex was watching for it, he couldn’t see what he did with his skate that launched him into the air, spinning twice—three times? Hard to tell—before landing with an extended leg and a great deal of applause.  Ransom asserted that they could make a play out of it.  Bitty looked smug as he skated off to chat with Jack.

‘Good break, Chowder?’

‘Yeah!  It was so good to see Andrea and everyone back home.  How about you, Dex?  How was Maine?’

‘Good.  Weird, kinda.  Like nothing had changed at home, but it was still a bit like going back to a foreign country.’

Before he could ask Nursey about his break, Jack called for three-on-three, declaring Ransom and Holster captains.  Holster picked Nursey immediately.  Ransom eventually picked him, while Jack took the goalies off to the side and set him up with an imaginary goal to take shots on.  It devolved into a real practice thereafter, albeit one that was outside and ended early.

A bunch of the team were trudging back to Faber to shower and change back into street clothes when Nursey—still in his helmet of all the fucking things—came up and slung an arm around his shoulders.

‘Good break, Nurse?’

‘Yeah, man.  You miss me, Poindexter?’

‘No.’

‘You’re always free to Skype me.’

‘Yeah, sure.  I could keep you updated on the state of the lobster fishing industry and the degree to which my family is overinvested in my utter lack of love life.’

‘I could tell you about which coffee shops in the City your flannel would guarantee you access to as long as you don’t open your mouth and recite nonsensical poetry—not that you’d be at risk there.  It’d be great times for both of us.’

‘Great times, yes.’

The team broke apart as they showered and changed and either went about their last day of freedom before classes or reconvened at the Haus.  Chowder insisted on making snow angels on the way over, then complained about how the snow soaked through his hoodie.

Bitty was already at work in the kitchen when the Frogs piled in the door.  Something involving brownies and liquor.  Ransom and Holster were playing Mario Kart, and did not look inclined to invite others to their already-started race.  Jack had probably retreated to his cave. 

Absent other obvious options, the Frogs flopped down at the kitchen table after getting drinks.

‘Dex!  You never finished telling me about your break!  What’d you get up to?  What’s your family do for Christmas?  D’you chop down your own tree?’

‘Yeah, we do—or, at least, my dad does and we all go along to watch and then some of us help carry the damn thing.  I got stuck with putting lights on it this year.’

‘I hate that.  My hands get all sappy.  It’s hella gross.’

‘Yeah, it’s not the best.  Kelly deployed her puppy dog eyes at me and I was doomed.  Hers are, scary enough, better than yours.’

‘What I’m hearing, Dexy, is that you’re a sucker for eyes?’

Nursey batted his lashes at Dex, eyes bright and green and chirping.  He—wasn’t wrong.  He couldn’t say that, though, so Dex elbowed him.

‘ _As_ I was saying, I worked some otherwise.  Just at my uncle’s repair shop, nothing big.  Christmas was Christmas.  Stockings, breakfast, tree, lazy day to recover after we’ve had lunch.  Some of the cousins came around.  Had leftovers for the better part of a week.  Visited the librarian at my high school.’

‘Were all your siblings there?’

‘Well, James decided to do stuff with his own family—he’s got another kid now.  His absence was… pretty nice, not gonna lie.’

‘But all the other Poindexters were there?’  Nursey asked.

‘I mean, my sisters and I were there.’

Chowder gave Dex a thoughtful look, but didn’t say anything.  Nursey, ever the less observant, nodded along like it was a real answer.  He wasn’t the only one who could play the deflection game.

‘What about you guys?’

‘Oh man, it was so good!

‘Oh?  Tell us all about it, Chow.’  Nursey raised an eyebrow in an attempted imitation of Lardo.  Chowder ignored him and barreled on.

‘So, it was kinda lonely for the first week cuz none of my friends were back on break yet, and my sister was visiting friends.  Also, Farmer was with her family down in San Diego for a while.  But she came back!  And we went to the Academy of Sciences!  One of my mom’s friends is a herpetologist there, so we got a semi-private tour of it.  He took us into the back area and I got to hang out with the sharks!  Oh!’

 ‘I got you guys something.  Well, something for each of you guys, not something joint, cuz that’d be awkward if you had to, like, split custody of it or something—’

‘Breathe, Chowder.  You’re making me hyperventilate by watching you, dude.’

‘No, don’t hyperventilate, Dex!  That’s bad for you!’

‘Chowder.’

‘Oh.  Right.  Sorry.’

Chowder dug around in his backpack and took out two misshapen packages wrapped in blue wrapping paper with sharks—actual sharks, not hockey sharks—swimming across it.  Nursey and Dex each took the one held out to them.  Nursey opened his first to reveal a weird sort of shark. 

Dex started snickering.

‘What?’  Nursey looked confused.  ‘No.  Seriously, what?’

‘Dude.  It’s.  It’s a _nurse_ shark.’

‘Oh, damn Chowder.  I can’t even tell if this is, like, a chirp or a possessive gesture, or just you projecting your obsession onto the rest of us.’

‘Hey now, Nurse.  He didn’t have to get us anything.  I didn’t get you guys anything.’

‘Yeah, but—’ Nursey stopped mid-sentence and pivoted to Chowder.  ‘Thanks, Chowder.  He’ll keep Liz company.’

Chowder grinned and made motions for Dex to unwrap his.  Dex did so carefully, slicing through the tape with a fingernail and smoothing out the paper after he unfolded each crease—to the extent that there were creases rather than crumples—to discover a stuffed fish covered in black, white, and bright red stripes with a bunch of plush spines or tentacles coming off of it.

‘It’s a lionfish!’

‘Nice, Chowder.  It’s cute and, like, oddly appropriate?  Ish?’

‘Oh, that’s awesome, Chowder!  It’s cuz Dex is all spiny—all _pointy_.  Oh, Poindexter.  You’re not Dex anymore.  You’re Pointy.’

Dex scowled, his face heating. 

‘I hate you, Nursey.  Thanks, Chowder.’

At the counter, Bitty was trying very hard to keep baking with a straight face.  He failed at it.  He was, though, managing to stifle his giggling.  Well, mostly.  Nursey turned around to face him.

‘It _is_ hilarious—right, Bitty?’

‘It does seem fitting, at times.  Even if it’s not real nice.’

‘Nurse has never claimed to be that.’

‘What’re you gonna name him, Dex?’

‘Iasc.’

‘Say that again?’

Dex repeated himself, a slight smirk tugging up his mouth.

‘It’s Irish for fish.’

‘Not gonna call it some variation on Lion?’

‘Nah.  Leon’s an actual name, and it’d set a bad precedent.’

‘Precedent?’  Chowder and Bitty both asked in unison.

‘Shitty’s got a pachyderm called Phanty.  Nurse has a lizard called Liz.  I left Sir Bear at home.  Pretty sure that Chowder’s shark is called Sharky.  A real name for a stuffed animal would set a bad precedent.’

‘Oh lord, you boys.’

‘Like you can talk, Bitty, with Senor Bun.’

‘Sorry I don’t have anything for you Chowder.’

‘Oh, it’s fine!  I wasn’t expecting anything in return.  They just… reminded me of you guys.’

Bitty opened the oven, and somehow Ransom and Holster recognized their cue.  They came thundering down the stairs, roughhousing and trying to shove past each other to get to whatever Bitty was pulling from the oven.  The perfectly-normal-sized- _thank_ -you forward turned to face the clatter, armed with an exasperated look and a wooden spoon.  He shook the latter at the juniors.

‘Just wait for it to cool, boys.  There’ll be plenty for the both of you once it has.  No sense burning your mouths up—it’s like you don’t even _appreciate_ my pie.’

‘Oh we appreciate it, Bits.’

‘Surely we do.  That’s why we’re so—’

‘—eager to get our hands—’

‘—mouths on it.’

Nursey coughed pointedly.

‘Phrasing.’

‘Is that still a thing?’  Lardo asked as she walked into the kitchen, accompanied by Shitty, a draft, and the lingering smell of pot smoke.

‘Lards, my dudest of dudes.  It depends on how you define “thing.”  Like, if you mean a thing as in a common cultural referent understood and appreciated by the general audience to which it’s addressed, then yes it is most certainly still a thing.  If you limit it, though, to such a, uh, thing that is additionally still _popular_ , then it may or may not still be a thing, depending on a poll of said audience.  I, for one, say it is.’

Holster began humming Wicked.

‘Thanks, Shits.  What’re you defending from the ravenous hordes, Bits?’

‘Maple sweet potato pie, pumpkin bourbon pie, and chocolate-pecan pie.’

‘Bommmmmmmmb, Bits.’

‘Doesn’t matter how vocal or appreciative you are in lusting after my pies, Derek Nurse, you are not getting any before anyone else.’

‘Let us appreciate you, Bitty!’

‘Also, give us your food, man.’

‘In due time, and not before then.  Unless you want to tempt fate.  These are for after dinner.’

‘What’s for dinner?’ 

‘And when?’

‘I’ve half a mind to let you fend for yourselves.’

By this point, everyone was crowded into the kitchen except Jack.  It was clear that there was nothing on the stove.

‘Fortunately for you, our esteemed Captain has already had a talking to—thanks Shitty.’

Jack came in, bearing pizza.

‘So in return for our unofficial and suddenly quite serious practice earlier,’ Shitty piped up, ‘Jackabelle has acquired us pizza as a last hurrah before we resubjugate ourselves to the tyrannical yoke of our meal plans.’

‘Something like that, yes.’

The team descended on the pizza almost before Jack had set it down on the table.  Lardo snarked that piranha didn’t leave so clean a skeleton.  They all moved into the living room to have pie and watch a Schooners game.

The Frogs’ walk back to the dorms afterwards was mostly quiet.  Chowder peeled off toward his dorm first.

‘Be nice to each other even after I’m inside.’

‘Yes, Chowder.’

The Frogs waved at each other, then Nursey and Dex turned toward their dorms.

‘You never did say what you were up to for break, Nurse.’

‘Didn’t I?’

‘Nope.  Chowder got caught up in talking about Farmer and sharks and all that.  You were… oddly circumspect.’

‘Big word there, Pointy.’

‘Don’t do that.’

‘What, call you Pointy?  But it’s _so good_.’

‘No.  Deflect.  If you don’t want to say, then don’t answer or tell me to fuck off.  Don’t handle me as if I were one of your boarding school people.’

‘Uh, ok.  It’s just.  I don’t—it’s not all that chill.’

‘A lack of chill, as you remind me _regularly_ , is one of my primary features.’

‘What’s that phrase you used during finals?  “A bug that can’t be fixed or worked around?”’

‘Yup.  That’s a feature.  I’m kinda surprised you remembered that.  Also, you’re deflecting again.  Stoppit.’  Dex stopped walking in the circle of light cast by a lamppost and turned to face Nursey.  ‘Do you want me to drop it?’

Nursey shrugged, looking more at the ground than at Dex.

‘Nah.  Just.  Things are tense and my mom’s working a lot and I decided it’d be better to go visit Dorian for the holidays again.  I’d be less… underfoot.’

 _Lots of things half-said there_ , Dex thought.  _Better let the poor bastard be._

‘Dorian?’

‘Friend from Andover—a real one, that is.  Coupla years below me.  We were pretty thick.  Still are.  He’s a good kid.’

‘You say kid like you’re so much older than he is.’

‘Yeah, well.  Two and change years.  One of the first kids I knew of to arrive at Andover already out.  We get along pretty well.’

It was Nursey’s turn to split off for his dorm.  Dex walked the rest of the way alone, mind whirring with uninvited thoughts about Nursey, his family, his break, and whoever the hell this Dorian guy was.  None of which mattered to Dex.  Clearly.

* * *

Billy tried to wait to pounce on Ryan’s bed until the little hand was at the six and the big hand straight up.  Ryan had been really stern about that—not mean, like James could be, just emphatic.  He was so excited, though, that he started tapping his feet against the side of the bed.  Ryan shifted, and woke up with a groan.

‘Billy, stop that.’

‘Sorry, Ryan.’

‘S’ok.  Just.  There’s a half hour until we can go wake up Ma and Dad, without them killing us.’

‘But I can’t go back to sleep now!  Aren’t you excited, too?’

‘Yeah, but sleep’s also really nice.’

‘Can I snuggle with you while we wait?’

‘Sure, little dude.  Just don’t wiggle too much?  I’mma try to get more sleep.  When the clock beeps, wake me up.’

Billy climbed into Ryan’s bed, and tucked himself in beside his big brother.  He wanted to ask more questions, but Ryan started snoring.  He waited, resolutely, for the clock to beep.  He tried to hold still—Christmases were always better (days were always better) when his brothers were in good moods—but he was just so _excited_.  He tried to focus on presents and what he hoped most to get (a firetruck, a giant set of legos, a _puppy_ ), from Santa or anyone else.  James had started claiming that Santa wasn’t real, but had shut up when Ma said that Santa only gave presents to boys and girls who believed in him.

Billy thought that sounded a lot like what their priest said about God.

Ryan jolted awake behind him when the clock started beeping.  No need to wake him up.  He sat up, prying Billy off of him, and stood up.  He put his morning CD on his stereo, quietly so he didn’t wake up their siblings who preferred extra sleep over morning showers, and padded into the boys’ bathroom, humming along to a song about a movie star on a wall and counting down from four.

Once Ryan was in the shower, Billy wandered into the bathroom to brush his teeth, too.  He’d had a bath the night before, so he just washed his face and got dressed—church clothes again, even though there was no church today.  The noise of Ryan’s shower served as an announcement that Christmas was at least beginning.  One of the girls started showering, too, and creaking on the stairs meant that one of their parents had gone down to retrieve stockings.

James pounded on all the doors as he made his way along the hallway to their parents’ room.  Doors opened and one slammed as Siobhan squealed.  Billy walked out into the hallway and was snatched up into a giant hug from Kelly.

‘Merry Christmas, Billy.’

‘Merry Christmas, Kells!’

They all crowded into Ma and Dad’s room, scattered themselves around the bed.  Ma had pulled herself up to sitting, still in bed.  Dad came in behind the first wave of his children, carrying a load of stockings that he distributed—first his wife, then the girls.  He went back downstairs for the boys’ stockings.  Eileen was on the bed with Ma, looking around at the celebration with minimal comprehension, her toddler’s eyes bright with excitement.  Billy smiled at her and she grinned and waved back.

Stockings were mostly intended to keep the children occupied and moderately fed until the late breakfast: tiny oranges and some chocolate and maybe an apple in one of the bigger stockings to make it seem full.  Everyone who could read got a magazine tailored to his or her interests—Billy got a book of puzzles and was ecstatic, more excited about that than the tiny racecar hidden away at the bottom of his stocking.  Ryan and Siobhan, who shared possession of a guitar, each got a songbook and grinned their approval of what the other had gotten.  James got a Sports Illustrated.

Breakfast, when it was ready, was as much of a production as any meal in the Poindexter household ever was: half a grapefruit for everyone, sausages and an egg apiece for protein, and all the pancakes you could eat.  Orange juice and hot chocolate and coffee for those who drank it, otherwise milk.

The end of breakfast always marked increase in the tension at the table, as anticipation took over the generally celebratory mood.  Dad decided not to have just that one more cup of coffee this year, which made Billy really happy.

From there, the morning descended into the madness of Christmas with six children.  James appointed himself Dad’s helper in the distribution of presents; Edmund accepted his son’s help and tried to make sure that James followed his lead in making sure that everyone had presents to unwrap at once.

Later, Billy wouldn’t be able to remember the big present he got from Santa that year, an enormous set of legos wrapped in Santa’s usual red paper and white ribbon.  He’d be better able to talk about the boot box he opened to reveal a small pair of ice skates.

* * *

Nurse smiled nervously at Dorian’s mom as she released her son from a tight hug—dread and hope warring in his chest at the prospect of his turn for one such.  Nurse offered a hand to shake instead, and it was definitely the safer option.  Well, mostly—she met his hand with an appraising look.  Mrs. Rocha nodded to herself, a decision made, and then drew him into a bone-crushing hug, too.

‘Thank-you so much for having me to stay for break, Mrs. Rocha.’

‘Oh, it’s no trouble, Derek.  Any of Dori’s friends are welcome in our house.  We’re happy to have you here for the holidays.’

‘My mom sent me this to show her thanks, too,’ he said, proffering the wine bottle wrapped in an elegantly festive fabric sack and wishing he were smoother about the host gift, that the gift didn’t make it all feel so… transactional.

‘Oh, that’s so thoughtful of her.  I’ll have to write her a note.’  Mrs. Rocha smiled as she took the gift without so much as a glance at its contents.  ‘I need to get started with dinner, but you and Dori should go drop your bags and get set up.  Make yourself at home, Derek.’

Nurse gave her his most Andover-parent-approved smile and turned to follow Dorian through the front hall and upstairs to his room.  The hallway was hardwood, with a long narrow rug running down the length of it.  There were several rooms off each side of the hallway and one at the end, most with doors mostly or entirely closed.  Dorian led them to the second to last door on the right.

‘Boys’ bathroom is one door down on our side.  Girls’ bathroom is opposite, with priority to my sisters, natch.  My room’s across from you.  Once you’re settled we can go downstairs and wheedle some coquito out of mamá.  The price will probably be you talking to her about college.’

‘Coquito?’

‘Like egg nog, but about sixty-five times better.  More if you prefer rum to whiskey.’

‘Chill.  I’ll be down in a bit.  Gonna settle in a moment, if that’s aight?’

‘Yeah, dude.  I’ll be downstairs.’

Nurse appreciated Dorian’s ability to catch when he needed a moment.  He set his bags down and flopped onto the bed.  Pulled his phone out, debated calling his mom.  Odds were against her picking up, so he didn’t.  Looked at the photography on the sage green walls—warm happy panoramas of vacations past, all smiling faces and foreign backdrops and searingly blue skies.  He recognized a few, saw his favorite volcanic beaches in the background of the picture from Santorini.

He could do this.  It was just Christmas.  They hardly even celebrated it anymore.

They hardly even celebrated, anymore.

Since Nurse was well-trained in the art of Being a Good Guest—and moping was not a part of that—he forced himself to get up.  He windmilled his arms a bit, and mushed his face around so it wouldn’t be stiffly disconsolate when he had to go be sociable.  Moved his toiletries to the bathroom Dorian had pointed out as the boys’ (a peek in the bathroom suggested why: one was tiled pink-and-white, the other black-and-white).

‘Settling in okay, Derek?’  Mrs. Rocha asked as he walked into the kitchen.  She was whisking something rapidly in a large metal bowl.

‘Yes, thanks.  Was just texting my mom to let her know we’d gotten in alright.’

It was easy—just pretend that the South Bronx was a different state from Addisleigh Park rather than a forty-minute (give or take some traffic) car ride or an hour or so’s ride on the subway.

‘Of course—last summer when Dori went to visit his grandparents he didn't call me until hours after he got there and I was worried sick thinking he was dead.  Now, while dinner’s cooking, why don’t you tell me about college things?  Dori mentioned that you were the first in your class to hear back?’

‘Yeah—I got in early to Samwell.  Be playing hockey there next year.’

‘That’s great!  Congratulations—and the first to hear?  You must be so proud.’

Mrs. Rocha walked to the fridge and pulled out a large bottle of what once had been liquor.  She took down several glasses from a cabinet beside the fridge and poured what must be coquito into them.  Nurse was glad for something to drink—it helped pace a conversation (helped deflect when he didn’t want to answer immediately).  They toasted to Nurse’s success.  After a bit more conversation, and a reminder that they only had two days of freedom before Dori’s sister got back from her school and they all became her minions before the holiday, she set them loose by suggesting that Dori give him a more complete tour of the house than just the hallway to the guest room.

When it came time for cooking, Nurse offered to help—he was a good guest, even if cooking was _not_ his strong suit—but Dori warned his mother off letting Nurse involve himself in anything involving the application of heat to food—or anything else.  Nurse cried betrayal, and Dori silenced him with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.  He ended up putting his arms to work mixing, playing fridge tetris (later made more difficult by the marinating pork shoulder), and generally being made a taste tester for dishes he wasn’t sufficiently familiar with to offer proper commentary on.

Dorian managed to get them excused from one night of parrandas—pleading Nurse being overwhelmed at the thought and embarrassed at his singing.  They spent it instead watching and singing along to Disney movies and agreeing that Aladdin was or should have been an early queer awakening.  They fell asleep on the couch in the basement and were startled awake as the remainder of Dorian’s family came crashing home, still caroling.

Midnight mass and the celebrations after fucked Nurse’s sleep schedule.  He just started randomly napping when there was down time.  Nurse checked his phone for the first time on the 27th—there was a text from his mother, hoping he was having a good vacation with his friend, and wishing him a merry Christmas.  She said she missed him, and he tried to believe it.  Dorian challenged his sister to board games that night, and succeeded in distracting him from the surreality of vacationing an hour from home.

They all stayed up well past midnight—this time the whole family engaging in board games and sing-alongs—on New Year’s Eve.  Family friends were in and out over the course of the week past Christmas, and were all thrilled that Dorian had a guest for the holidays.  Nursey wasn’t sure, but he thought he might have gotten at least one low-key shovel talk from one of Dorian’s tias.

Mrs. Rocha drove them to the airport on the second, talking about how it had been fine for them to come in by subway because she’d had things to do, but she couldn’t very well let her baby just leave with a hug at the door.  She gave Dorian and Nurse each a shoebox with plastic grass inside to put under their beds on the night of the fifth, and to expect the Three Kings to deliver by mail. 

Nurse would treasure the scarf he received for years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally finished Nursey's backstory section for this chapter, like, earlier this week after a coupla friends ceased to be available to offer cultural competencies that the internet could not provide (thanks, Liz, for stepping in to tell me what I was doing wrong there!). To the degree I've still fucked up in rep, a) mea culpa, and b) please let me know so I can try to unfuck it.
> 
> More generally, I'm behind where I had hoped to be by the time the 6-8 week window I mentioned at the end of Past and Present Tension was up, because life and ill-timed worksplosions and three weeks of sore-throaty, woozy, headachy death. So I'm going to either post this on a schedule of days ending in 2 (read: every 10-ish days), or else every two weeks. Those with strong opinions are welcome to vote; votes may be taken into account in my decision there.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy it!


	2. Chapter 2

The text came in Thursday night, just as the Frogs were finishing up watching The Emperor’s New Groove.  Dex had mostly confined himself to quoting along with the movie (and doing the voices), while Nursey and Chowder had instead offered trenchant commentary on societal implications and some of the failures at cultural competencies suggested by the way the story was told.  There had been a fair amount of drinking through the movie: Nursey demanded a drinking game, alleging that it would be necessary to assuage Dex’s masculinity in the face of being a grown-ass man watching Disney.

Dex protested, citing his younger sister.  It was ignored.  Notably, there was no explosion, no argument, no spoiled fun.  They watched cartoons and drank beer (or whiskey).  The Frogs would later blame the booze on their collective failure to remember the warning they received.  Their phones chimed simultaneously.

 **Giggles:** Alright, boys.  Shitty’s told me we have to warn you in advance and get your affirmative consent before we shanghai your asses tomorrow night, because laws or something.  So.  Tomorrow night, we’re going to shanghai you sometime in the evening.  There will later involve booze, camaraderie, and shenanigans.  Do you consent?

 **Me:** Uh, chyeah.

 **Jaws:**   Sure!  What’s the plan?

 **Snap:**   This sounds dubious.  But you probably wouldn’t do anything too awful.

 **Giggles:**  Your vote of confidence is heartwarming, Dex.  Thanks, Froggies.  See you tomorrow!

 

Somehow SMH didn’t have a game that weekend, which led Lardo to point out how ideal it was for Hazeapalooza.  The Frogs were encouraged to nap after practice—advice that went largely untaken.

Nursey did take a nap after dinner, but forgot to set his alarm.  So he woke to a pounding on his door instead of birdsong in incrementally increasing volume.  He shook his head to clear it from sleep—because that’s _clearly_ how that worked—and looked at the clock.  Five minutes past midnight.  He’d been out for a while.

‘Open the fuck up, Nursey!’

Shitty.

‘One sec, brah.’

The pounding stopped.  Nursey tried to smooth his hair down, with minimal success.  He slapped a beanie on over it and struggled into pants.  He was pulling a shirt over his head as he opened his dorm room’s door.  It took a moment for Nursey to realize that his favorite senior was clad only in aviators, suspenders, and a pair of hockey pants.  He stepped back to allow Shitty into his room, preferably with an explanation.

‘What’s up, Shits?’

‘Oh, not much, brah.  Just here to kidnap you.  Like we warned you about yesterday.  Don’t kick up a fuss, k?’

‘Uh…’

Nursey hadn’t noticed Lardo come in behind Shitty.  He hadn’t noticed the black sack she carried, either.  Until it was over his head.

‘What the fuck!?’

‘Dude.  We warned you.  Got your consent and everything.  I promise it’ll be okay.  Just come with us and don’t yell too much?’

Nursey made sure he could breathe well enough in the bag, then nodded and allowed himself to be steered out of his dorm room after Shitty put some flip-flops on his feet.  Once outside, he griped about the cold and how he wasn’t dressed for it—or for anything involving people.

‘No talking.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Hazeapalooza is dead serious, Nursey.’

‘Hazea—really?’  Nursey giggled through black nylon.  ‘You couldn’t come up with anything better?  Or is there a concert to go along with this?’

‘No concert unless you’re providing one.  Which you can’t, because there is _NO TALKING_.’

‘Spoilsport.  Let the record reflect though, that you’re as bad at naming events as you are at naming stuffed animals.’

Shitty didn’t respond, so the walk continued in silence.  Sound was muted inside the bag, so Nursey couldn’t hear anything too clearly.  He hoped they weren’t too much of a spectacle.  They probably were, though.

‘Careful here.  There’re steps.  First one’s coming up… there.  Good.  Three more.’

Nursey heard a door open ahead of them—not a dorm, though, and not the Haus.  They hadn’t been walking nearly long enough for that.

‘Good.’  Wicks greeted them.  ‘We were wondering what was keeping you three.  You’re the last set here.  They’ve been placating Dex with booze.  We’re pretty sure he only bruised Ransom—it was apparently a shit kidnapping.’

Then they were inside, and it was heated.  Nursey’s feet were only slightly frozen.  It was an echoing space, and as they moved through dimly lit hallways, it took on a particular funk.  Locker room.  They were in Faber, almost certainly.  Appropriate enough, given something called Hazeapalooza.  Nursey relaxed a bit now that he knew where they were, and allowed himself to be led into the locker room.

Nursey was sat down on a bench.  The hood was pulled off, and he blinked against the too-bright fluorescents.  Everyone was there.  Most of the team were in street clothes, but Chowder was in pajamas and Jack was covered in… feathers?  Chowder, beer in hand, was chatting easily with Bitty as Jack stood nearby, shaking his head.  Dex was there, and had clearly been drinking.  He scowled at anyone who got too close to him.

‘You alright there, Dexy?’

‘Woulda been better if they’d just asked me to please cooperate and come with them _before_ they tried to bag me and tie my hands.’  He sounded sullen.

‘You did have shoes on the walk over, though.’

‘They made you come in flip-flops?  Fuck, dude.’

‘Eh.  S’alright now.  You okay?’

‘I guess.  Serves me right for forgetting Lardo’s warning.’

‘Yeah, I forgot too.  Woke up from a dead sleep.  Forgot to set an alarm for my nap, too.’

‘Apparently Chow was getting ready for bed when Jack and Bitty burst into his room, had an argument in his absence, and then tried to convince him to come along nicely before Jack got impatient and black-bagged him.’

‘Shitty distracted me and Lardo snuck up from behind him or beside me or…  well, I was still kinda out of it.  See above about sleeping.’

‘I was in the library.  It was deeply not cool.’

‘ALRIGHT FROGGIES.  And Jack.  Jack, you get in on this too, you beautiful motherfucker.  Down to your skivvies and out onto the ice.  MARCH.’

Nursey raised an eyebrow at Dex, who shrugged.

‘We’re here.  Worst’s probably over.  Might as well go with it?’

‘Surprisingly chill, Dex.  I approve.’  Nursey smirked at his d-partner.

‘I hate you, Nurse.’  He rolled his eyes and smirked back.

‘Awwwww, Dexy.’

‘Dude, you’ll fall over if you swoon too far.  Think how bad Shitty would feel if his hazing party got broken up because someone actually got injured.’

They stripped as they talked, and suddenly it wasn’t too different from practice.  Except that weren’t on skates on the ice.  Or properly dressed.  Bitty was hemming and hawing on whether they really had to be next to naked for this part, and was roundly dismissed until he pointed out the potential for injury from skin-on-ice contact.

‘Jack, what’s the deal with the feathers?’

‘Chow’s gonna need a new pillow.  And probably to vacuum his room.  Good reflexes even when he’s squealing like a drowning cat.’

The ice was cold.  Nursey was glad when Bitty won them at least a layer of towel between their shins and the ice.  Shitty, that devoted near-nudist, was barefoot on the ice and possibly inebriated enough to not notice it much.  The idiot.  Once the four initiates were kneeling properly, Shitty started into his spiel.

‘Frogs, this evening you partake in the most sacred of hockey rituals.  Hazeapalooza—before it, Hazestock—bonds us in the Samwell brotherhood.  Tonight, you will crawl onto the shores of manhood, naked, blindfolded, and bitch-ass shitfaced.  BUT NOT ALONE!  For I learned only hours ago that among us, there was one who has yet to endure the gauntlet.  JACK LAURENT ZIMMERMANN!  Captain of our Samwell Men’s Hockey Team!’

Jack seemed to shrink as the assembled team’s attention swiveled to focus on him.

‘I was… out of town?’

‘BULLSHIT.  You were in town, Zimmermann.  Dweeb town.’

Nursey snorted.  Shits was _clearly_ drunk.  Also tripping on power he wasn’t usually afforded.  Rans  & Holster had settled into enforcer roles.  Lardo snarked that even _she_ had been initiated.  Nursey looked around at the assembled team—as Dex was doing—and wondered how many of them he’d talked to outside of practice.  Not many.  So much assembled bro.

‘You know, Jack?  I’m just gonna say it—’ Dex burst out like he’d been thinking it a while.  ‘YOU shoulda gone first in the draft—not Kent Parson.  Also, your ass is shockingly large.  Like, it is scary.’

So drunk Dex was overly honest.  Check.  Jack smiled at him—uncomfortable, maybe nervous, but also possibly happy at the same time?  It was far too open a look on him, Nursey thought, given how guarded he usually kept himself.

‘Oh man oh man oh man—guys.  Guys.  Guys!  We’re being initiated with Jack.  Zimmermann.  Zimmmmerrrmannnnn.’

Drunk Chowder had consumed one beer.

‘No talking.’

‘So, is no one gonna talk about C’s mad flush right now?  Chowder, you had one Natty Lite.’

‘Nursey, I’m _not_ a lightweight—I can drink _three whole beers_ and stop all your dumb shots.’

Ransom took Shits’ cue.  ‘No **talking**.’

‘Oops.  Sorry sorry sorry.’

Shitty instructed the Frogs—and Jack—to howl.  It made as much sense as anything else did so far (read: none).  Nursey was about to throw his head back when Jack broke the no-talking rule.

‘But if we’re frogs, shouldn’t we be croaking?’

‘Zimmermann!  Keep cracking wise and I’m demoting you to tadpole.’

Jack legit giggled in response—had _he_ been drinking?

‘Zimmermann, you fucker, quit giggling and take this seriously.’  Shitty seemed to recognize that he didn’t have authority over Jack in the same way he kinda did over the Frogs.  ‘Ugh.  Just howl.  _Now!_   Fucking everyone!’

They howled.  Nursey really got into it.  Dex seemed to try to give an impression of actual wolves.  So that was a thing.  Chowder managed to yell ‘AH-WOOOOO’ like it was a cheer.  They were allowed to stand and get off the ice and get dressed.

Some of the team drifted off to whatever non-Haus events they had at quarter to one on a Friday night.  Sleep, perhaps.  Nursey flowed along with the Haus-bound crowd, including its denizens and all three Frogs.  Bitty had supplied him and Chowder both with sweaters—thrilled, finally, that they could be put to use.  Shitty was still residually upset that Bitty had worked to undermine the solemnity of Hazeapalooza, and nevermind its name.

Lardo demanded that Chowder give her a piggy-back ride to the Haus.  He obliged.

‘God he’s such a lightweight.’

‘And how much have _you_ had, Dex?’

‘Six shots?  Eight?  Whiskey.  Somewhere about there.  And a beer.  Another one now,’ he said, gesturing with his bottle of Sam Adams.  ‘Rans and Holster jumped me in the library, I reacted like you’d’ve guessed, ’n they tried apolologizing with booze instead of words.  So now’m drunk.’

‘That’s… actually a fair amount, yeah.  I was asleep.  So this is my first beer since the kidnapping.  I’m glad Jack’s making sure Chowder’s staying upright with Lardo on his back.’

‘Yeah, dude’s… seriously drunk.  Two beers in and he’s falling over himself.  S’a different sorta impressive.’

Dex kept up a steady stream of consciousness back to the house, and Nursey walked along and just listened to him.  That he was observant wasn’t a surprise—his chirps were precisely targeted.  The surprise wasn’t even the degree to which Dex cared—about people, about the team—the end of last term had demonstrated that pretty thoroughly.  No, the surprise was how _earnest_ he was with all his defenses down.  It was like he’d finally admitted he was safe here or something—or he was just drunk and his usual sharp aloofness was too much effort to maintain.

Nursey wasn’t drunk enough to have those illusions.

The team—less some attrition—arrived at the Haus.  Lardo hopped down off Chowder’s back rather than risk him climbing stairs while carrying her.  Shitty preceded everyone up the stairs, budging Lardo out of the way to open the door for her with a flourish.  She rolled her eyes, punched his shoulder, and walked in first.

Bitty walked into the kitchen ahead of the Frogs, grumbling to himself about having boxed up all that nice pie and just bringing it home again.  He laid out his stack of tupperware containers on the kitchen table, set a stack of plates beside them along with forks and napkins, and set to work with a new pie tin and crust.

‘Help yourselves, boys.  I’m just gonna whip up one more to make sure everyone has their favorites.’

‘What about me and Rans, Bits?  Don’t we get pie, too?’

‘You can have some of any of those, Holster, _after_ the Frogs have had their slices.  You didn’t have to kneel on the ice just this side of shucked and _howl_.’

Holster backed off—the combination of Bitty’s offended tone, his eyebrows, and the knife did the trick.  Nursey grabbed two plates, because he was pretty sure Chowder would drop his, and no one wanted to make Bitty sad by dropping his pie.  And Chowder probably didn’t want to pay that fine again.

Dex, beside him, made a small excited noise at a chocolate pie—but wasn’t blueberry his favorite?  Nursey looked over in time to see a dazzling smile aimed at Bitty disappear into a bashful look, but didn’t say anything—Bitty’s eyebrows were _at work_ tonight.

Lardo saw that Nursey had a plate for Chowder, nodded at him, and steered the goalie to his beloved couch.  Chowder sprawled on it, grinning, until Dex moved his feet back to the floor and sat at the opposite end of it.  Chowder pouted, and Dex’s helpless response to it was suddenly the funniest thing Nursey had ever seen.

Nursey brought the pie over, and by silent agreement, there was no comment when Chowder draped his legs back over the other two Frogs.  Lardo, an angel of booze, delivered beer to Nursey and Dex and water to Chowder.

‘Drink up, boys.  Not that you weren’t before, but you’re well and truly a part of the team now.’  She looked up at Jack’s back retreating up the stairs.  ‘You too, Zimmermann!’

‘Good night, Lards.’

Everyone chorused good nights at Jack.

Ransom declared that, in order to keep everyone awake long enough for optimal pie-consumption (read: all of it), he was calling for a Mario Kart tournament.  Holster, Lardo, and Nursey called dibs on controllers first.  Ransom pulled up the Flower Cup, and it was on.

Dex cheered on whoever was losing—so mostly Holster.  Lardo and Nursey were the chief contenders, but Nursey had two significant edges: years of hanging out in Andover common rooms after hours and—weirdly—being the soberest person in the room.

Nursey’s skill held until Chowder started snoring midway through Shy Guy Falls.  He was about to make the shortcut—trash-talking Lardo as he did so—when Dex poked him in the side.  Hard.

‘Derek shhhhhhh.  Chowder’s _sleeping_.  You can’t risk waking him up.’

Dex gestured dramatically to the snoring goalie, concern written all over his face.  Distracted, Nursey went over the side of the course.  And, to add insult to injury, Lardo’s Bowser nailed him with a shell as she flew by.  She won while he was still being fished back up onto the track.  It was oddly fine. 

Lardo took the Frogs’ pie plates into the kitchen and came back with three water bottles full of water.  Ransom got some sleeping bags, blankets, and pillows and suggested they camp out in the living room for the night.  Dex nodded eagerly.  They ended up waking Chowder to put sheets down on the biohazard couch, to save Bitty from a later coronary.  

As he fell asleep, Nursey realized _why_ it was fine after all: he was at home here.

* * *

Poetry wasn’t some singular sort of grand revelation in Derek’s life.  No—poetry accumulated into his life, a growing accretion of words and verses and imagers.  It was Tolkien’s dreadful songs stuffed into the mouths of elves and dwarves in an attempt to force English to perform Eddas.  It was convincing his parents that he could handle a version of the Odyssey not bowdlerized to be ‘suitable’ for children’s eyes and brains.  It was a lot of classes about white people putting their feelings down on page for all the world to admire.

It was all the times Derek needed to bleed out his own feelings and found prose insufficient.

So, when Derek was so excited about spending an entire week of his English class learning about the poetry at the heart of the Harlem Renaissance, it was no surprise to Jeannie.  For once there was no preamble on the social politics of middle schoolers and how it affected who was Derek’s primary antagonist that week.  He just launched into a discussion of whose words they’d read and about having gotten permission to delve in further.  He smiled the entire length of the subway ride home.

It was the most honest smile she’d seen from him in weeks.

That Saturday, then, Jeannie waited for Derek to finish with his hockey practice.  They didn’t take the normal train home, but instead—after two transfers—found themselves on the F train toward Coney Island.  Derek looked distinctly less than thrilled, assuming the end of the line was their destination.  He was therefore somewhat surprised when they disembarked just into Brooklyn.

‘We’re not even going to the aquarium?’

‘We can, after, if you like.  I thought you’d be interested in this, though.  A bit more patience and you’ll see where we’re heading.’

A short walk took them to a bookstore in a brick building that had once upon a time been a gallery space of some sort, high ceilings, white walls, track lighting.  Art—photography, drawings, other curiosities—hung on the wall, and on top of a bookcase there sat a distended lego bust of, apparently, Walt Whitman.

Derek was enchanted.  He immediately lost himself in the bookstore, alternating between browsing at random and asking specific questions of the staff.  Jeannie kept an eye on him, but was content to sit near one of the walls and read her public transit book.  Eventually, Derek returned with a small stack of books—more poetry from the Harlem Renaissance, a volume of Neruda, a general primer on ‘important poetry that wasn’t all about white dudes,’ as one of the owners described it.  They left, with Derek hugging his new books to his chest in their bag, grinning without reservation.

‘Still want to go to the aquarium?’

* * *

William was not very familiar with the library when he was a freshman.  His summer freckles hadn’t yet faded, marks of a summer spent buggin’ on his uncle’s boat.  It was a dark space at the dead-end of a corridor, lit sparsely with harsh fluorescents that cast strong shadows.  There was a reading area just as one stepped into the library space, with a few student-use computers and chairs and newspapers separated out onto wooden rolls by section.  The stacks were to the left and circled around, closing the space off from any windows that there might have been.  The circulation and reference desks were to the right of the door.

Nervous, William approached the older woman at the circulation desk.  She looked nice enough, in the way that smiling adults of no direct authority often did.  No telling if it was real, though.  She was flipping through a book at her desk, occasionally running a hand through her long light brown hair or huffing her bangs out of her eyes.  She looked up and saw William as he neared the desk, and her smile broke into an earnest grin.

‘How can I help you?’

‘I, um, was looking for a librarian?  I’m supposed to find some work to do instead of detention.’

‘Ah, a delinquent with a work ethic.  We have all sorts of ways to put you to work around here.  What’s your name?’

‘William, Mrs., uh’ he looked at the placard, hoping it was correct ‘Donovan.’

‘Well, William, I can have you shelve books or put labels and barcodes on new books or edit the word of the week files.  What’s your pleasure?  I regret that ‘none of the above’ is only an answer if you want to serve your time in a detention room.’

‘What needs doing the most?’

‘Probably shelving.  I won’t make you do so, but I would suggest sorting the cart before getting to shelving.  Fiction by author’s surname, non-fiction by Dewey.’

‘Dewey?’

‘Come on back and we’ll have a look.’

Mrs. Donovan stood from the desk, and apparently stepped down from her chair.  She was shorter than William had been expecting—she only came up to his shoulder.  Making her way into the back room, she waved for William to follow her.  She wiped her hands on her denim skirt before she picked up a couple books from the shelving cart, possibly out of habit.

‘So, this one’s fiction—see how it just has the author’s name on the sticker on the spine and the first initial?  That’s your filing guide.  This one, though, is non-fiction: 971, Canadian history.  You’d file that numerically sequentially, down to the last digit of the decimal.’

‘So the cart’s all just a jumble, then?’

‘Ayup.  If this is how you want to spend your—how long _do_ you have, William?’

‘Two hours.  Disrupting class for arguing with a bully.’

‘If this is how you want to spend your _hour_ , William, then I will leave you to it.  I can’t necessarily condone disrupting class, but I condone bullies even less.  Come see me to get a signature on the slip in an hour.’

‘Thanks, Mrs. Donovan,’ William said, partly to affix her name in his mind.

William turned to the books—they were, indeed, in no particular order.  He started by sorting them into stacks of fiction and non-fiction.  Once he was done with that, he started sorting the non-fiction into piles by the hundreds.  He was midway through the first pass when Mrs. Donovan came back.

‘You’re about halfway done with your time, William.  Now that classes are out, I can help for a bit—I’ll work on fiction for you, how ‘bout?’

‘Thanks.’

‘You’re a freshman?’

‘Yes ma’am.’

‘Year’s just started—I hope you don’t plan on visiting too often.  For detention, at least.’

‘Only as often as it’s assigned me.’  William started sorting the piles, then—putting them onto the cart as he did so.

‘You sound so resigned to it.’

‘Hard not to be—kids won’t stop being bullies; I won’t stop knocking ‘em down a peg; teachers won’t start actually doing something about it—means I get detention like clockwork.’

‘There may be deeper causes to some of these patterns you mention, William.  Teachers have to act circumspectly about matters outside what we witness—absent obvious injury with obvious cause, it’s a problem of whom to believe.  There are other ways to get at the problem, though, but it requires teachers to know the issues—and you’re right that we don’t always know what’s going on, even though we try.  Something to think about when you’re next considering vigilantism.’

‘Bears thinking on, sure.’

William did think, as he loaded up the cart—and then unloaded it, wheeling it through the stacks and placing books onto their proper shelves.  The shelving was almost mindless, once he settled into it, so all there was to do was think about other things.  Maybe Mrs. Donovan’s hint was one he could take her up on.

Ryan _had_ always said that there were more ways to fight than just with fists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This trip I'm on (thanks weather) has been nuts, and featured 54 hours in not-my-intended destination. Fortunately I knew three people in that city, so it wasn't a complete loss. Anyway, have a chapter--in which this part earns its 'fast and loose with canon timing' tag. Two reasons: first, it didn't make sense to put it in Past & Present Tension since it's not about these two idiots in conflict, and second it's more interesting to tell it as a story of once they're friends by function if not by conscious naming. For similar reasons, I'm finishing up writing the section on Winter Screw, which never quite made sense to me as a thing set in a fall term, even if in December or whatever.
> 
> Enjoy! Back again with more in two weeks, because life is impeding writing lately.


	3. Chapter 3

They’d won handily against Quinnipiac: two goals for Jack and one each for Shitty, Bitty, and Wicky—and a shutout for Chowder.  Chowder was still pretty happy with the win, ecstatic about the shutout, and vocal with his Valentine’s Day dinner plans with Farmer that night.  As he’d told Dex at least twice so far, they were going into Boston for some kind of event at the aquarium.  Nursey was being weird, though: first, he’d congratulated Dex on how well he’d played in the game, and then he’d just… been all quiet.  Hadn’t really joined in with the team’s banter, and had been gone by the time Dex had gotten out of the showers.

Shitty, after giving Jack a hard time about his extensive sleeping plans for the evening, had split off from the team after they got out of the locker room, making a beeline to a particular part of the stands.  Dex watched him go, clearly hoping to find the Yo Marry Me, Jack Zimmermann sign a couple girls had brought to the game.

There were still a couple hours of Saturday afternoon left, so Dex tromped back to his dorm through the snow, relishing the feel of it compacting beneath his boots.  The Offspring were dissonantly happy noise in his ears as he crossed campus.  Andrew was playing Elder Scrolls Online and blasting something that sounded like it couldn’t decide between being happy and being emo and just split the difference.  Dex took this as his cue to be not there.  He collected his laptop and bag and a tray stolen at one point from the dining hall for traying.  He took his stuff out onto the deck or patio or whatever ill-considered construction decision led to an outdoor space on the second floor of a dorm just outside the common room. 

Regardless of how it had come to exist, Dex liked it out there, particularly when no one used it in the winter.  There were picnic tables and good vantage points down toward the Pond and, best of all, an outlet.  Dex cleared off a table and a seat of snow, plugged his laptop in, making sure that the power brick was on his bag rather than anything that might recently have been snowy, and set his laptop up on the upturned tray.

Ten minutes later, Dex had just about fallen into a flow state when his phone rang.

‘Hi, Ma.’

‘Hi, Billy—how are you?’

‘I’m doing good.  Had a game today—we won.  Doing some work now before whatever folks get up to tonight.  How’s home?’

Dex opened a browser and began pulling up the week’s accumulated webcomics.

‘Home’s good.  James and his wife are coming over for dinner tonight to spend time with us and with Siobhan, whose boyfriend dumped her a week ago.  How was your game?’

‘It was good!  Chowder got a shutout.  We won, five-nil.’

‘Congratulations—and how did _you_ do?’

‘I mean, I got some decent hits in.  Stopped some shots.  Stopped others from being taken.  Worked oddly well with Nurse today—I won’t complain about that, though.  Give Siobhan a hug for me.’

‘Glad to hear you’re getting along with him on the ice.  Do you have plans tonight?’

‘Don’t think so.  Probably just going over to the Haus, see what Bitty’s baking.’  Dex tried to keep his tone light, even though he knew she was steering the conversation toward dating, which he _really_ did not want to talk about with her.  ‘Is Kelly gonna be at dinner tonight, too?’

‘No, she begged off—something about dinner with a fellow named Andy.  I don’t know how long that’s been going on, but she hadn’t mentioned him before and seemed nervous, so my guess is it’s fairly new.  Now, I know you don’t like it when I’m direct, Billy, but…’

‘Ma.’

‘You know we worry about you and just want you to be happy, kiddo.’

‘ _Ma_.’

‘So your protests mean that you’re not dating anyone?’

‘No, Ma.  Keeping my grades up for my scholarship is a lotta work alongside hockey and my work study.  Not really any time to meet people.’

‘Well, if you do, young man, you be sure to let us know.’

‘Sure thing, Ma.’  Dex lied.

From there, Dex steered the conversation away from romance by getting caught up on the family gossip—one cousin had gotten into Bowdoin and people were working to get money together to make that happen; another cousin had broken her arm falling out of a tree; Billy’s great-aunt-who-you-probably-don’t-remember had finally agreed to move into an old folk’s home.  Then it was just a matter of half-listening and replying in the right ways at the right times before Ma eventually ran out of news.  He told her he loved her and to have a good dinner and ended the call.

Then he immediately dialed Kelly.

‘It’s my favoritest younger brother!  To what do I owe the honor?’

‘So.  Andy, eh?’

‘Damn, you’re quick.  Not even a hello or return sass about being my only younger brother.’

‘Nope.  Andy.  Spill, Kells.’

‘Pushy.  She’s amazing, dude.  Tall and gorgeous and fairly butch.  Smart as fuck—smarter than you—and wicked funny.’

‘How long?’

‘Coupla months now.  How’d you find out?’

‘Ma said you were going out to dinner with “a fellow named Andy.”  Didn’t know how long, but mentioned you sounded nervous.  She chalked it up to nerves and assumed you hadn’t been dating, uh, _him_ long.  Be careful, Kells.  You’ve got another year and a half before you’re safe.’

‘ _Will_ iam, my darling, overprotective little brother.  I know.  And I appreciate your telling me.  Andy knows what’s up, and we’ve got a friend who’ll pretend to be Andy—well, his name actually is Andrew, but he’ll pretend to be _my_ Andy—in case anyone drops by.  Once I graduate and get a job, it’ll be good.’

‘Yeah, and then the pressure will be on for the rest of us left behind.’

‘Eh.  You’ll be fine, dude.  They can’t stop us from sticking together anymore now that cell phones and the internet exist outside their control.  I’m not planning on disappearing.’

‘Some damage is already done.’

‘I know, dude.  I miss him, too.  Not to abruptly change the subject, though—’

Dex laughed.  ‘But to abruptly change the subject...’

‘Yeah, well.  You thought about coming out to your boys down there?’

‘Nnnnnnnope.  It’s almost funny—in the worst way—how they seem to think I’m this enormous gay-hater.  It’d be weird to come out now.  Plus, I can’t act like you can.  I’d fuck up pronouns in front of Ma or, worse, James.  Better to just be a goddamn monk.’

‘Oh, Billy.  If I were there right now, I’d give you the biggest hug you’d never admit to wanting.  Do at least think about it.’

‘Miss you too, Kells.  Have fun on your date tonight—come visit me sometime?  Bring Andy, maybe.  I’d want to meet her.’

‘What, and offer your stamp of approval?’

‘Doesn’t work like that.  But she’s important to you, so I wanna meet her.  Anyway, I should get back to work before I go see what mayhem’s cooking up at the Haus.’

‘Love you, Billy.’

‘Love you too, Kells.’

Dex got back to work.

 

The sun was starting to set when Dex came up for air, realizing that his hands were shivering even in his typing gloves.  He was stiff when he stood up and felt like he was creaking as he packed his shit up.  Acclimated as he was—as much as he could be—to the winter outside, stepping back into the common room was like walking into an oven. 

In Dex’s absence, Andrew had moved on to J-Pop.  Dex took it as a warning—he changed his shirt, got real gloves, and tossed his Spanish book into his bag and took off for the Haus.  On his way over, he checked the group chat.

 **Bitty:** Everyone who wants is invited to the Haus for an anti-Valentine’s party.  There will be chocolate and pie and whatever else folks request.

 **Chowder:** Sorry, Bitty!  I have plans with Caitlin!

 **Ransom:** We know, Chowder.  Have fun!  Holster says be safe.

 **Bitty:** It’s fine, hon.  I’m pretty sure there will be leftovers, even if Holster’s here.

 **Holster:** Uncalled-for, Bits.  Anyway, Rans and I will be out with March and April.

 **Lardo:** True, though.

 **Bitty:** any requests?

 **Nurse:** There any chance you could bake a cake, Bits?

 **Bitty:** What kind?

Dex wondered why Nurse was after cake—and what sort of cake he might be into.  Since pie was so much Bitty’s thing, cake wasn’t a frequent Haus dessert.  When no request came, he pocketed his phone and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, since those were warmer than his coat pockets.  He was in no particular haste to get to the Haus, so he made sure to crunch through the snow just at the edge of the trodden path, packing it down underfoot and widening the thoroughfare slightly.

The Haus was bustling when he arrived.  Nursey was hanging out in the chair in the living room, scribbling away at his notebook.  Ransom and Holster were occupying the entirety of the biohazard couch, half-roughhousing half-gaming.  Jack was at the kitchen table, working on something—plays, a recipe for his class with Bitty, or homework, it was impossible to tell. 

Ollie and Wicks burst out of the Haus as he approached, each carrying a medium Ziploc full of cookies.  Ollie was eating a mini-pie.  Dex fist-bumped Ollie in passing, got a nod from Wicks.

‘Hey Bitty—how’s Betsy holding up?  D’you need me to look at her before you get started on your spree tonight?’  Dex asked as he shucked his coat and flopped it over one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

‘Get started?  Oh, honey, it’s cute that you think I’m not already putting her to work.  She might need a check-up after tonight, but she’s behaving just fine for now.  You got any requests for tonight?  Since we don’t have any marzipan on hand, Nursey settled for a chocolate cake.’

‘Whatever you make will be good, I’m sure.  Why’re you staying in tonight, Nurse?  I’m surprised you don’t have something going on with that dude from your class last semester.  Or with, like, literally anyone you looked at appreciatively.’

Pin-drop silence.  Dex didn’t mean to sound aggressive, or like it was uncomfortable to say in the way the team probably assumed.  His stomach dropped—this was apparently not safe ground to tread.  Too late, though, to take it back.

‘Uh, no.  I’m, um.  Surprised you remember—that was… that was a while ago.  He was already with someone, and I kinda shoved my foot down my throat asking, so… yeah.  _Very_ single.  Alone for my birthday.  Like usual.’

‘Derek Malik Nurse, you did not _tell me_ this was supposed to be a birthday cake.  Ransom, is there any chance I can get you to run to Murder Stop & Shop and see if you can get me a tube of almond paste?  And some green food coloring, too.  The paste kind, unless they don’t have it, then I suppose liquid will do.’

‘Yeah, Bits.  Anything else you need?’

‘A carton of eggs, if you could, and a teensy bottle of armagnac?’

‘No trouble, bro.’

‘Thanks, hon.’

Meanwhile Dex, as Rans trundled out of the house and started up Holster's Jeep, stood behind the chair he’d been about to sit down in, staring concertedly at—through—Nurse.

‘You weren’t going to tell us it was your birthday.  Just let it all flow around you and be _chill_ , right?  Of course.  Of _course_.’

Chowder walked into the middle of the scene, blissfully unaware—or just ignoring—the tension in the kitchen.

‘Why is Dex of-coursing?’

‘Because today—’

‘ _Of course_.  Did you actually tell _anyone_?’ 

‘—is my birthday.  And now I’ve told people, Dex.  So there’s no reason to continue wigging out for no particular reason.  Chowder, tell us about what you’re doing with Caitlin tonight?  Well, any plans you have that don’t involve deets.’

‘ _Before_ now, Nurse.  Were we just supposed to _know_ , or do you not _like_ your birthday, or what?’

Chowder looked distressed, and Nursey just ignored Dex in favor of making ‘go on’ motions at the goalie with his hands.  With one last glance at Dex to make sure he wasn’t going to explode—figuratively or literally—he launched (again, for Dex) into his plans to take Caitlin to a dinner event at the Boston aquarium.  Nursey teased Chowder about whether it was a date for his own benefit, and Chowder protested that Farmer liked fish—was considering majoring in bio or something like that.

‘He’s chirping you, Chowder.’

‘Oh.  Well.  I mean, of course.  Um.’

‘We all know you like fish and stuff, but that you probably like Farmer at least as much.’

‘Ch’yeah, and that you wouldn’t _actually_ set up a date that your date wouldn’t like.’

Reassured, Chowder settled in with Nursey and Dex at the kitchen table.  Dex pulled some readings out of his bag and fell into them, the hubbub of the Haus a comforting echo of the best parts of home.

Some time later, Ransom returned, triumphant, slamming open the front door with a force that led Dex to add checking the frame to his mental list of potential repairs.

‘I return bearing almond paste, eggs, and food coloring.  Also the fancy booze.  You’d better appreciate this, Nursey—Murder Stop & Shop was out, so they made me go to Racist Stop & Shop for it.’

‘Awww, bro—you didn’t have to do that for me.’

‘Bro.  It’s your fucking birthday, and Bits said he needed it for the cake you wanted.  Of _course_ I had to.  I’m just sad that Holster and I have plans tonight, or we’d be sure to stick around and celebrate with you.’

‘It’s chill.  If you want, we can play Smash until you head out.’

‘Yeah, dude.  _HOLTZY_ , _SMASH TOURNAMENT DOWNSTAIRS_.’

Holster yelled something muffled by doors and distance from the attic, but soon enough came clattering down the stairs.

‘You rang?’

‘Yeah, bro.  Nursey wants a birthday Smash tournament.  We have to deliver.’

‘You, me, Chow, Nurse, to start?  Sounds good.’

They started playing, and the commotion drew Shitty and Lardo downstairs from Shitty’s room.  He’d been whining about law schools taking too long to respond to applications at a volume that carried.  Shitty had rhinestones hot-glued to his arm and whined piteously when Lardo ripped them off.

‘Lards, m’dude.  That’s my arm hair you’re tearing out.’

‘Yeah, but it’s my art supplies you’re wearing.’

‘So, like, I get to suffer for your art?’

‘You’re helping me.  It’s only fair.’

‘For some definition of fair.’

‘Yup.  Mine.’

They stopped talking suddenly, realizing that the eyes of the rest of the living room were upon them.  Shitty waved.  Lardo took advantage of his distraction to reclaim the last rhinestone, eliciting another yelp from Shitty.  Lardo, grinning predatorily, flopped down on the armchair and declared that she’d take over for the loser.  Shitty wandered into the kitchen to see about snacks.

‘Eric Bittle, my dearest, my darlingest, my ittiest-bittiest of chefs—’

‘I am _perfectly normal height_ , Mr. Knight.  Now, how can I help you?’

‘Just wondering if there were perhaps any brownies to be had in this magnificent kitchen of yours.’

‘Of course, Shitty.  They’re on the counter over there, and you can have some.  Do not try to get me to make you pot brownies, though, because I will not defile my bakeware that way.’

‘I would never—’

‘Like you didn’t last week, then?’

‘I plead the fifth.’

‘I don’t think the fifth amendment works like that, Shitty.’

‘Hush, Dex.  You’re spoiling my fun.’

‘Just saying.  Could you bring me a brownie, too, Shitty?’

‘Sure, man.’

‘Thanks.’

Baked goods were distributed, and for a moment the only noises in the kitchen were chewing, the ambient Smash trash-talking, and Bitty working on some sponge cake.  Shitty groaned his appreciation of the brownies and, while inclined to agree, Dex could only shake his head at the senior winger.

‘You knew Nursey at Andover.  Did he, like, ignore his birthday there, too?’

‘I didn’t learn about his birthday until mid-March the year we overlapped, when he received a coupla packages from, like, Peru.  He just said it was chill in his usual fashion and changed the topic.’

‘I see.’

‘Shitty—I need you!’  Lardo called from the living room.  ‘Rans and Birkholtz hafta go get ready for their hot dates tonight and we’re one shy for Smash now.  Come let me kick your pixelated ass.’

‘So it’s just my ass you want?’

‘You should probably be controlling Princess Peach with your thumbs, dude, but… you do what you gotta.’

‘How do you know I’m playing Peach?’

‘Uh—you _always_ do?’

‘I must answer our illustrious manager’s summons.  Don’t work yourself into an aneurysm over it.’

Shitty stood and, with an over the top display of misplaced dignity, whisked his way into the living room.  Bitty snickered at his exit.

‘Hey, um.  Bitty.  Do you, maybe, want some help with Nurse’s cake?’

‘What would your brother have to say?’ 

Bitty’s sass carried the same frosty undertone it had when Dex had asked about Parson.

‘I just wanted to help.  Nurse doesn’t seem to want to actually celebrate his birthday, but it seems important.’

‘Would it make you too good at baking?’

‘I… ugh.’  Now was precisely the wrong time to get defensive, and Bitty was always the worst person to get defensive at.  That man had an unfortunately good memory, and spite for days.  ‘I realize, looking back, that I sounded like a homophobic dick when I said that.  I’m apparently really good at saying the worst possible thing at the exact wrong time when I’m.  Um.  Nervy.  I know that the team’s already decided what sort of asshole I am, but—as to what my brother would think—well, James _is_ exactly that sort of dickbag.  And nine years older than me.’

‘Didn’t you mention at one point having two brothers?’

‘Yeah.’  He looked at Bitty, who returned his gaze with an appraisal.  Dex sighed.  ‘I would _really_ like to not talk about Ryan just now.  Or, like, ever.  Unless we’re all drunk enough that no one will remember it the next day.  You never did answer about the cake, though.  Is there anything I could help with?’

‘I’ll just pencil that in, then, Dex.  Now, if you’re sure this won’t injure your masculinity—’ Bitty raised an inquiring eyebrow; Dex held silent ‘—then I’ll put you to work with the whisk while I make the Armagnac syrup.  I got the pastry cream and the rest refrigerating—that boy did not give me enough time to do this properly, but you’re right that birthdays are important.  You ever separated eggs before?’

‘Yeah—egg-white omelets were a thing for a while.’

‘Wonderful.  Start by separating four of those eggs—just need their yolks.  Keep the whites for omelets if you want.  Jack might thank you.  Then what you need to do…’

Dex followed Bitty’s instructions as best as he could—which turned out to be reasonably well.  He needed some help with knowing when the yolks and sugar were sufficiently whisked.  Once Bitty accepted that he was earnest in wanting to help, he made sure to explain what he was having Dex do.  Before too long, the cake rounds were made and in the oven.  At that point, Bitty shooed Dex out of the kitchen.

‘You’ve been a wonderful help, Dex, and I appreciate it—but at least for this cake, there’s nothing more for you to do until we get to assembly.  Go wait for it in the living room with everyone else.  It’ll be about forty minutes or so until it’s time for that.  Thank you.’

‘Sure, Bitty.  Thanks for letting me help.’

Dex got a beer and some cookies before he sidled out of the kitchen into the tumult of the raucous Smash game.  Peach was kicking ass, though Nurse’s Marth was holding him off alright.  Chowder’s Pikachu was having a bad time of it, and Lardo was playing an opportunistic game with Link.

‘Kicking his pixelated ass, Lards?’

‘One backstabbing at a time, Dex.’  Lardo punctuated her comment by hitting Peach with a bat.

‘I TRUSTED YOUUUUUUU.’  Peach impacted the front of the screen as Shitty wailed.

‘I’ve repeatedly told you not to, Shits.’

‘Hey Chowder—uh.  Shouldn’t you be getting ready for dinner wither Farmer?’

‘Oh no!  You’re right.  Dex—take over for me?’

‘Nah, I think I’ll just watch.  There’d be minimal change in result anyway.’

Chowder dropped the controller, grumbling as Lardo took the opportunity to murder his defenseless pokemon.  He grabbed his backpack and scrambled out of the Haus, yelling his thanks to Bitty for the baked goods

‘Avoiding personal involvement, Dexy?’

‘If you hadn’t withheld information about your birthday, Nurse, I might have joined in and let you beat the hell out of me in Smash.  As it is, I merely convinced Bitty to let me help with your cake.’

‘Did you poison it?’

‘Why the fuck would I do that?  And then tell you I’d helped with the cake?  Dumbass.  That’s no way to commit a murder.  Also, doing that would result in my death, too, and Bitty would make sure no one knew he did it.’

‘William speaks the truth, Nursey!’  Bitty sang out from the kitchen.

‘So why’re you hanging around here tonight, Pointy?’

‘Please don’t make that a thing, Nurse.’

‘Too late.  Also, don’t avoid the question.’

Dex groaned, even as he flopped down in the arm chair.  ‘Got no plans.’

‘Clearly, or you’d be at them.  Next question, then, since you like sequences: why don’t you have plans?’

‘Because plans today tend to require a date—preferably with an established significant other.’  Dex could feel his consonants getting more clipped as he answered through his teeth.  ‘Nurse.  I realize it’s your birthday, but could you seriously please not give me shit about how undateable I am?  I get that enough from—from others.’

‘That’s… that’s so not where I was going, Dex.’  Nursey’s voice took on the same talk-gently-to-the-frightened-animal tone it had during his panic attack the prior term.  ‘I was just surprised that you wouldn’t have a date.  I dunno.  It was dumb.  Sorry.’

‘It’s fine.  Thanks.  Um.  Sorry for getting snappish.’

Before Dex realized what was happening, he had a lap-full of Shitty.  ‘Will wonders never cease!  The Frogs are growing up, Bitty!’  Shitty was yelling.  Directly into Dex’s ear.  ‘I’m so proud!’

Lardo—taking a moment to make sure she killed Peach before Nursey did—offered Nursey a judicious nod and a fistbump.

‘Regardless of date plans, it’s clear why Dex would be here: there are baked goods a team who loves him.  Also video games.’

‘Bro, that’s like.  Touching.’

‘No, Shits, that’s what you’re doing right now.  To Dex.  Without asking consent first.’  This time it was Nursey offering Lardo the fistbump.  Dex and Shitty both blushed furiously.

‘You’re fine, Shitty.’

‘No, but, Dex.  Lardo’s right.  I…’  Shitty started to scramble off of Dex’s lap, only to find Dex holding him in place—still blushing—with arms around his waist and an amused eye-roll.

‘You’re fine, Shits.  You’re at least pretty sure I’m not, like, touch-intolerant or whatever.  You’re shockingly dressed, which is definitely a bonus over your norm.  You’re enthusiastic.  I have younger siblings—well, a younger sister—and, like, a billion little cousins.  It’s _fine_.’

To emphasize the point, Dex didn’t remove his arms from around Shitty’s waist.

‘Nurse—toss Shitty his controller?  He can’t get up right now.’

‘You continue to be a revelation, Pointy.  Here you go, Shits.  Catch.’

The Smash tourney resumed, and competition was fierce once they replaced Chowder with an AI player.  Shitty would occasionally squirm a bit to rearrange himself.  Nursey, without Chowder to beat on, became the focus—and lost terribly.  He muttered something under his breath that Dex didn’t quite catch.

‘Gonna repeat that so everyone can hear?’

‘They have seen as other saw/ Their bubbles burst in air,/ And they have learned to live it down/ As though they did not care.’

‘Seems a bit overdone for losing at video games, Nurse.  That a Nurse original?’

‘S'from the Harlem Renaissance, Lards.  It’s half of Old Black Men by Georgia Douglas Johnson.’

‘Short poem.’

‘They don’t all need to be long, Dexy—it gets its point across pretty quickly.’

‘True.’

‘Dex!  I could use a hand assembling this cake, if you want.’

‘Sure thing, Bitty.’  Dex release Shitty and waited for him to get off his lap.

‘FREEDOM!’

‘Yeah, and now you’re out a lap, Shits.’  Shitty dove at Lardo.  ‘Oof.  No, that was not me offering up my own lap.  Ow.  Goddammit, you’re squishing me.  Fine.  There.  That works.’

Shitty ended up with his head in Nursey’s lap and his feet in Lardo’s.  He settled once Nursey started running a hand through his hair, and only cursed a bit when Lardo tickled his feet.  Dex walked into the kitchen, where Bitty was smoothing a whipped cream concoction over and around a mound that might contain the cake rounds Dex had worked on and other layers of stuff he’d prepared earlier.

‘So what do you need, Bitty?’

‘First, wash your hands, then run them a while under the cold water.  This marzipan didn’t get quite long enough to chill, so it’s not going to be the prettiest princess cake ever.’

‘Nursey’s hardly the prettiest princess, so it shouldn’t matter.’

‘That’s no attitude to take, Dex, toward baking _or_ your friends.’

‘And yet.  What do I do once my hands are blue?’

‘Come help me drape this over the cake.  Make sure your hands are dry, first.’

Together, they draped the—inexplicably green—marzipan shell over the whipped cream mound.  Bitty tucked it in all nicely and showed Dex how to properly squeeze flowers out of the Ziploc he’d made into a pastry bag.  Once he’d finished, they peppered it with candles—there were only fifteen in the Haus, so that’s how many Nursey got.  Then Bitty handed Dex the cake platter to carry into the living room, lit the candles, and walked into the living room to turn off the lights.

Dex started singing, and it took a whole line of him singing solo before Jack joined in, followed quickly by Bitty, Shitty, and Lardo.  Nursey looked confused for an instant, and then his face blanked over in the way that betrayed to Dex that he was trying his best to hold himself together.  He blinked furiously for a moment before drawling—

‘Dexy, you said you wouldn’t sing for me.  Best.  Birthday present.  Ever.’

‘Don’t think it’ll be a habit, Nurse.  But… you’re welcome.  I hope the cake turned out well enough for you.  I don’t think Bitty’s ever made one of these before.’

‘You hush your mouth, Mr. Poindexter.  Just because I haven’t doesn’t mean it won’t be delicious.  I appreciate your help, too—you were mighty useful.’

‘I never said it wouldn’t be, Bitty.  But there’s a difference between delicious and good enough for a birthday cake.’

‘It’ll be great, Dex.  It already is.  This is the first time someone’s _made_ me a birthday cake.  So.  It automatically wins.’

Dex resisted his sudden, strong impulse to give Nursey a backbreaking hug.  He was sitting down; Dex was carrying the cake.  Bitty would murder him if he dropped it.  So many reasons to not.  Better to ignore any reasons in favor.

‘Well, I’m happy to be able to do that for you, Nursey, and I’m sure Dex is, too, since he pushed hard for me to let him help.’

Nursey raised his eyebrows at Dex; Dex shrugged.  Nursey grinned, and it was one of the most honest-looking expressions Dex’d seen on Nursey’s face.  He smiled back and set the cake down on the coffee table.

‘Make a wish, dude.  Blow out the candles before they set off the smoke alarms.’

* * *

Ryan had been fighting with their parents again.  The closer he came to graduation, the more it happened.  It wasn’t the first time he’d slammed the door on the way out, leaving in his truck with no more goodbye to William than an apologetic text after the fact.

It was an argument, really—a battle of positions and explanations.  Dad’s pronouncements of this-was-how-things-were no longer quelled Ryan, even for peacekeeping purposes.  Mom’s appeals to family, emotion, or guilt were probably just as ineffective.  Then again, it’s not like Ryan, with his tendencies toward sympathetic application of logic and his patient insistence that he really did know better, was going to sway either of them.

Either it was a private argument or they were much better than he’d thought they were at knowing when he was trying to listen in.  Whenever William tried to eavesdrop, conversation halted just as he got within hearing range.  He only heard something about Bishop Malone and things happening in the fall.  There were no slammed doors that night.  Instead, Ryan packed some boxes and gave Billy a hug that was too tight to mean I’ll-see-you-next-week-kiddo.

A few days later, William got home from school to find his mother blotchy-faced and puffy-eyed in the kitchen, glaring at the phone.  Noticing him, she got up and gave him a big hug that seemed more for her own comfort than anything to do with him.

‘What’s wrong, Ma?’

‘Nothing new, Billy.  Just complications with your brother’s graduation.  I don’t know if we’ll be able to make it.’

‘But it’s important!  What’s the problem?’

‘The problem is that he doesn’t want his family there.’

‘Did he say it like that?’  William didn’t want to sound as dubious as he probably did, but that seemed uncharacteristic for Ryan.

‘Well, no.  But he doesn’t want me or your father there, and I don’t know if we can trust him around you or the girls anymore.’

‘What?’  William’s stomach dropped, and the pieces slipped together in his head: Bishop Malone and the return of Question One.  Ryan was queer.  Or at least supported people’s rights to be?  That… made sense with how kind he was to everyone—except James (who had earned unkindnesses and then some).  Although if Ma didn’t trust him with his siblings, he’d either come out or, well, no that didn’t necessarily mean anything.  Either way, Ma figured he liked boys and didn’t trust him around Billy.  Never mind all the babysitting.  Did Ryan know?  Had he already been planning on telling them not to come?  Had he already planned to abandon them?

As his thoughts careened beyond his control, the knots in his stomach found each other and clenched like fists in his gut.  His arms and his shoulders tensed up so much that his skin tingled with the excess tension.  William felt the pressure of his backpack straps like weights on too-taut wires.  He didn’t even notice that he was hyperventilating.

‘Billy, darling, you ok?  You’re breathing pretty quick there.  Focus on my voice?  Breathe in’—Ma exaggeratedly inhaled—‘and hold’—‘and sloooooooowly breathe out.  And again.  In—hold—out.  Good job, Billy.  Keep going.  It’s okay.  You’ve still got us.’

‘Is he—’ William shuddered out the question once his breathing slowed enough to talk ‘will he come back?  What’s he gonna do after graduation?’

Ma stood beside him now, on the stool he found himself seated on, rubbing a soothing hand up and down his back.

‘I’m sure he has something planned.  He’s a smart boy like you.  I hope he’ll remember that family’s the most important thing before he gets too separated, too lost.  As to him coming back, well.  That’s his decision.  After all, he’s the one walking away.’

Ma sighed like she was breathing Ryan out for the last time.

* * *

Nurse walked into Kemper five minutes late for rehearsal.  The actors were in a huddle, shouting their way through some curse-laden diction exercise.  Techies were milling about, busy with all sorts of things—prop arrangement, hanging lights, ferrying finished set pieces up from the workshop downstairs.  Bairdo, leading the actors in their warm-ups, smiled and shook his head as he clocked Nurse coming in.

Nurse went downstairs and was about to walk into the workshop when some kid stopped him with a hand on his chest.  He was kinda short, with shoulders he’d hopefully grow into someday—very much a frosh.  Tightly coiled blond curls that piled atop his head and cascaded down the side that wasn’t shaved close, down over the boy’s taupe forehead and partly obscuring one of his pale brown eyes.  Still in school-appropriate clothes, although rumpled and mismatched enough that his outfit was also a complaint against the dress code.

‘Nope.  Noooooope.  I’ve been set to stand guard here entirely and specifically to make sure that you don’t go into the workshop, Derek.’

‘You know who I am.’

‘Duh?  You’re in my French class, dude.  Also, Roman told me that my main job for the first twenty or so minutes of rehearsal today was to make sure you didn’t gain entry to the workshop.  He then gave me a lengthy description of your mishaps—exploits?—uh, disasters.’  The kid—Dominique?—smirked as if impressed with Nurse’s mechanical ineptitude.

Nurse backed off.

‘Right.  Well.  I’ll go up to the sound booth and be bored out of my mind a while, then.  Do homework or something.  Maybe read the script and start assembling sound cues.’

He didn’t mean to sound petulant, but being singled out to be shut out of the workshop—even if it _might_ be deserved based on prior history—wasn’t the best feeling.  He offered the kid a mock salute and about-faced to head up the stairs.

The sound booth was above and behind the auditorium’s seating, unobtrusive and hard to notice unless looking for it.  A single tinted window looked out over the audience to the stage.  The booth held an enormous and rarely used sound board, a computer with a variety of theater programs for sound manipulation and cues, and the God Mic built into the wall that, if turned on, would saturate the theater—house front, stage, and backstage—with whatever Nurse decided to say.

The only way to get up to the sound booth was a narrow iron spiral staircase.

Nurse set up shop once he got up there: turned on the red-bulbed lamp; used his phone as a speaker to set up some music; took out his copy of the script and his math homework.  Set an alarm for 5:30 on his phone, in case no one came up to find him during rehearsal or when it ended.  Got to work.

Time passed.  Nurse wasn’t really sure how much—his phone hadn’t beeped at him yet, so it didn’t really matter.  He stirred from the depths of the angular hell of trigonometry when he heard footsteps exaggeratedly clomping up the spiral staircase to the sound booth.  A few moments later, the prep from earlier popped his head up into the booth.

‘You busy?’

‘Oh, yes.  Terribly.  The sound op has so many things to accomplish before the actors know their lines.  By which I mean trig sucks and any distraction is welcome.  What can I do for you?’

The prep climbed the rest of the way up into the booth.  Took a seat on the floor, since there was only the one chair.  Seemed like he was settling in.  Nurse abandoned it to sit down across from the guy.

‘I… I’m sorry.  I don’t recall your name.  Aside from—it’s Dominique in class, right?’

‘Yeah.  Mme. Terraciano wasn't exactly spilling forth with French versions of Dorian.’

Dorian smirked, offered Nurse a hand to shake.  Nurse took it.

‘I was warned about you, you know.’

‘Clearly that had an impact, you seeking me out in the sound booth.’

‘Well, it certainly brought you to my attention, though I’m sure we’d have met outside class eventually.’

‘That so?’

‘Queer kids gotta stick together, right?’

Nurse held out a fist to bump; Dorian completed the gesture as if sealing a pact.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not thrilled at how Dex's backstory section turned out in this one, even after reworking it twice. This is what I get for not being able to find much useful information about the technical bits of lobster fishing and therefore bucking canon to have Dex work mostly for the repair shop uncle.
> 
> CW: racism in Nursey's backstory section; occupational injury in Dex's.

‘So, in sum my dear Lards, a herd of duck-sized moose would run us all down and give zero fucks whereas a single moose-sized duck would be fuckin’ delicious.  Imagine a you-sized confit.’

‘I am not cooking you a unique animal, Mr. Knight.’

‘But we’d have killed it, Bits!  We were forced—individually or collectively, Rans’s hypothetical really didn’t specify—into combat with said monstrosity of nature, and we would have bested it.  How could you not commemorate it?  Would you truly deny us tasty, tasty, cooked-in-its-own-fat duck-beast?’

‘Yes.’

‘And let 1200 pounds of it go to waste, Bits?  Seems excessive.  Did you never play the Oregon Trail?’

‘Hush, Ransom.  I will not cook endangered animals for y’all.  And if there’s only one of a thing, it’s inherently endangered.  Extinct, in fact, once y’all killed it.’

Nurse put his headphones back in once the squawking died down.  He’d voted for the duck, even though the thought of tiny-moose was cute enough to sway him until he remembered it would be a fight.  Dex had agreed, which weirded out nearly everyone.

It was chill.

The bus rolled on, and Nursey watched the lights pass by out the window with Kendrick raging in his ears, caught between displaced passion and melancholy.  He could see, just in his periphery—and, occasionally, in the half-transparent reflection off the plate glass—Dex looking over at him now and then, as if he were worried.  As if he noticed.

Shit.

Well, nothing he could do except be chill.  So he was—he relaxed fully into the slightly scratchy pile of the technically-velvet-but-not-at-all-soft seat fabric.  He breathed, quietly, deeply, in and out.  Watched the lights as they passed on the highway—soon, he knew, they’d abandon the big road for the inky, isolating darkness that you only get on backroads in rural areas at night.  That Nurse had only really experienced in hockey buses.

It used to, he thought, unnerve rather than reassure him.  Being out in a bus with just his team and no one else aware of his location in the universe.  But this team was so, _so_ much better.  Enough that his mask had begun to feel like a straightjacket.

Nursey was still musing on the poetic implications of that thought when Dex gently nudged his shoulder.  He popped out an earbud and turned to look at his defensive half.

‘We’re here, Nursey.  Everyone else is off the bus.’

‘Oh.  Chill.  Sorry—was pretty spaced out there.’

‘Thinking good thoughts?’  Dex was getting better at smirking with his voice, Nursey thought.

‘Poetic ones.’

‘Of course.  The rest aren’t worth the trouble?’

‘Hey—I think about hockey, too.’

‘Hockey isn’t poetic?’

‘…Not as a matter of course.’

They got off the bus.  Nurse made a point of thanking the driver, like always.  Dex did, too.  They grabbed their bags and headed into the motel.  Most of the team had already dispersed, but Lardo, Shitty, and a few other upperclassmen were still hanging about.  Well, Lardo was distributing keys in a regimented and orderly fashion.  The rest of them were hanging about, waiting for access to showers and beds.

‘Nurse.  Good of you to join us.  You and Dex are in 413.’

‘Thanks, Lardo.’  Dex swiped both of their keys and strode toward the stairs.

The fucking stairs.  Monster.  Nursey told him he was a monster, and Dex just laughed.  Challenged him to a race, which ended when Nursey tripped and nearly fell onto all of the sharp parts of the stairs with his hockey bag landing beside him.

‘You win, Dex.  This isn’t worth dying over.’

‘Maybe a race wasn’t the best idea while you’re carrying your weight in clothes and gear.  You ok?’

Dex was waiting at the landing where the stairs turned toward the next floor, looking down with an unfamiliar expression on his face.  Not quite humor, not quite concern.  Huh.  Nurse picked himself up just as Dex started back down to—what—to help him up?  This was getting weird.

They got to their room and Dex used one of the cards, handing Nursey the other with a suggestion that he keep it in his wallet, as if that would prevent him from losing it.  Dex claimed the bed nearer the windows, walking over to drop his bag on the desk, throw open the blinds, and check the mattresses for bed bugs.  Like usual—like clockwork.  Satisfied that there was no infestation, Dex drew the sheer curtains back across the window, but let the heavier ones stay open.

Nurse flopped his bag on the side of the bed nearer Dex—the side he wouldn’t be sleeping on.  He unzipped it, took out the hanging bag he’d laid on the top of the rest of the pile of clothes and equipment, and hung that in the closet.  Took his toiletries into the bathroom.  Noticed his meds weren’t in his toiletries.  Let out a string of curses that cycled through most of the languages he could swear in.

‘Y’okay in there, Nurse?’

‘Yeah.  It’s fine.’

‘But not chill?’

‘Nope.’  That much of an admission was necessary, Nurse reasoned, given the profanity.

‘Anything I can help with?’

‘Nnnnnope.’

‘Wanna talk about it?’

‘If I say no, will you _drop it_?’

‘For a while.’

‘Then oh hellllll no I do not wish to talk about it.’

‘Then lemme use the bathroom and we can get dinner with everyone.’

‘Yeah.  Sure.  Sorry.’

‘If there’s anything I can do, lemme know.  But for now, I gotta piss.’

Nurse puttered around the room until Dex was ready to head down for dinner.  Somehow, going down alone seemed too exposed, even though it was just his friends and teammates.

‘You ready, Nurse?’  His voice wasn’t gentle, quite, but Nursey couldn’t find any edges or barbs in it as he turned the statement over in his mind.  Dex looked—when Nursey looked up at him out of the corner of his eye—somewhere between sincere and worried.  That wouldn’t do.

‘Yup.  Just waiting on your slow ass.’  A weak chirp was still better than none at all.

‘Sure you were.  Do you want me to distract Chowder so he doesn’t figure out that something’s up?’

‘If he hasn’t already noticed.  He’s more observant than people give him credit for.’

‘More than Bitty gives him credit for—but don’t count me among that set of people, Nurse.  He might be better at finesse than you are.  He isn’t omniscient, though, and he is distractible.  So—would that help?’

‘If you’d be willing, I—yes.  Um.  Thanks.’

‘Yeah.  Got your back, Nurse, if you’ll let me.’

The thing about backs, Nursey thought, is that they’re exposed, even—especially—to those who claimed to have them.  Maybe Dex deserved a chance to prove he wasn’t like Shorter and the others.  Lower stakes here, anyway—a debate or a decision about Poindexter’s trustworthiness made zero difference to whether he turned out to be.

‘Don’t think I have much choice on this one.  If you’re willing, though, that would be really nice of you.’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’  He held out a fist to bump; Nursey completed the gesture.

They left their room and took the elevator.  Everyone else was assembled in the lobby already.  Waiting.  Nursey was glad that Dex offered to distract.

‘Hey—sorry we’re late.  My ma called.’

Jack nodded, like that was all there were to say.  Lardo raised an eyebrow—at Nursey, not at Dex.  Nursey shook his head minutely, hoping she got the message— _please, not here, not now_.

‘It’s fine.  Diner’s just across the way.’

Dex stuck close to Nursey as they traversed the parking lot.  The diner had retro-futurist aspirations: a very Jetsons 1950’s aesthetic, silver and fins and as much of the service and labor portions of things reduced to machines as possible.  The team piled into four booths in the middle of the diner—Dex seemed to ask if he wanted a corner with surprisingly subtle body language.  He took the offer, and found Lardo directly across from him with Shitty and Chowder filling out her side of the booth.

‘How’s your ma, Dex?’

‘She’s alright.  Wanted to check up on me, cuz I hadn’t called home in over a week.’

Nursey knew for a fact that Dex was lying, both about the fact of the call and its content: he’d been around for the forty-second call a few days prior.

‘Ma Poindexter worried about us outta staters corrupting her boy?’  Shitty asked, leaning across the table and batting his eyelashes at Dex.

‘If she knew that the corruption around here consisted mostly of pie and found family, she’d be equal parts intensely weirded out and, like, charmed maybe?  Mostly.’

Dex grimaced, and Nurse wondered what that was about.  Well, less wondered and more leapt to the conclusion that it had to do with the number of queer dudes on the team (read: more than zero).

‘What would weird her out most, do you think?’

‘Toss up between Bitty’s baking and all the casual touching.  We’re a big family, but—’ Dex leveled a look at Shitty, dialing up all his reactions a notch to keep the attention on him, ‘gender roles and stoic masculinity are the orders of the day.  Affection is never really offered or proven, except maybe through going out of our ways to help one another.’

Was that?  Did he just?  Without even a quaver to his tone or a surreptitious glance to the side.  Shit.  Dex was actually subtle.  _Shit_.

The waitress came, dressed up in all of the colors of condiments, none of which worked with her blonde hair.  They all ordered, and had to endure Holster, in glasses, asking dumb questions to keep the waitress’s attention.

Once that distraction was done, Chowder turned toward Nursey.  It felt like time slowed down, as he was about to open his mouth and ask what was up and Nursey felt himself tensing with borrowed energy to deflect, to play it off, to non-answer.  Dex made good on his offer, though, and asked a slightly derogatory question about the Sharks’ (re‑)acquisition of Evgeni Nabokov only for him to retire two days thereafter.

On the defensive, Chowder launched into an impassioned defense of the franchise and its decision to honor Nabokov by allowing him to retire with his first team.  Chowder had _opinions_ on the matter, and Nursey was content to sit back and listen.

Then Lardo kicked him in the shin.  Gently, but still.  Nursey startled.  She rolled her eyes and smirked.  Facial conversation ensued: an inquiry by eyebrow, an ‘ehhhhhhh’ by head-tilt, grimace, shrug.  A pointed look, a shrunken-in plea.  Displeased looks all around to conclude.  Lardo shook her head, as if exasperated.  Shitty patted her shoulder.

Dex was trolling Chowder about the Sharks’ goalie history.  It was actually funny to listen to, when that savagery wasn’t directed at him.  Without engaging Nursey, Shitty helped Dex egg Chowder on.  He’d clearly caught onto the game—had Nursey’s back without question.  Dinner concluded in similar fashion, with Shitty and Dex working to one-up each other in some sort of ridiculous sub-rosa contest of who could be more distracting to Chowder—and, ultimately, everyone else.

It was a miracle they weren’t kicked out of the diner.

The team filtered out, in pairs and trios, into the parking lot.  Before Nursey could escape back to their room, Lardo slipped her arm through his and steered him toward a darkened corner of the lot.  There was a bench; they sat, looking out at the road and the ditch between them and it.

‘Something on your mind, Lards?’

‘You.  Something’s off.  And you didn’t want Chowder to notice it.  And Dex seems to run a competent game of interference, so he either knows what’s up or else knows you think Chowder knowing would make matters worse somehow.  Shitty mentioned it to me on the way up.  Does it affect the team or your performance on it?  Be honest.’

‘No effect on the team.  Just me.  Shit day and I forgot my anti-depressants at school.  Shitty knows about the depression, but no one else does.  You, now, I guess.’

‘Sucks, dude.  I’ll add a reminder to my checklist to ping you about your meds.  How can I help until we’re back?’

‘Make sure I’m not the focus?  Don’t let me fall into my head?  Don’t let Dex explode at me when I inevitably fuck up a play or three tomorrow?’

Nursey shivered slightly, tried to stifle the reaction.  Lardo removed her arm from his and draped it around his back, scooting closer.  She was an improbable furnace.

‘How much does Poindexter know?’

‘That something’s off, that I let loose a tirade in the bathroom when I discovered what I’d forgotten, and that I really don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Do you want him to continue not knowing about it?’

‘You offering to have that discussion for me?’

‘I wouldn’t be able to cover it nearly as thoroughly as you might be able to, it being different person to person, but I can probably convey the gist in terms he’ll understand.  Particularly where it comes to my reaction to him taking anything out on you for the next forty-eight or so hours.’

‘If you could, that… would make it a lot easier, yeah.  Thanks.’

‘Course, dude.  Let’s get back before we freeze.  I’ll take Dex aside and have a chat.  You good for now?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Come find me if you need anything.’

‘Sure thing.’

They walked back into the motel.  Nursey, since Dex hadn’t given him either of the keys to the room—was probably (hopefully) thinking to do it after dinner—got a new key from the desk and wandered back to the room.  Lardo wished him goodnight before she split off to find Dex.

Back in the room, Nursey took his time in the shower staring at the patterns in the variegated tiles on the wall.  He made extra sure that he ran through the full of his hair and skincare routine—habits to reinforce self-care.  Habits to accomplish without even considering the number of spoons needed.

He was in bed with the lights off when Dex came in.  He had the window-side bed, and had only drawn the sheer curtains, not the thicker ones.  Orange sodium light filtered in from the parking lot below.  Dex moved very quietly, but it also sounded like he was shuffling—announcing his presence.

‘I’m awake.  Do whatever you gotta, Dex.’

‘Oh.  Okay.  Sorry.’

‘You’re fine, dude.  Thanks, also, for your performance at dinner.  I was impressed.’

‘Hah—thanks.  Running interference is a necessary skill in a big family.  Helps, too, that I knew a guaranteed way to distract Chowder.’

‘So… did Lardo talk to you?’

‘Ohhhh yes.  Called me out and dragged me aside like I was in trouble.  No one should think it’s connected to you.’

‘You, uh, got any questions?’

‘What do you need?’

That wasn’t what Nursey was expecting.  He took a deliberate pause, breathing in and centering himself a moment.  Breathing out and returning to this present where Dex cared.  Weirdly.

‘Normally, it’s whatever—no need to handle with any special care.  Tomorrow?  If I fuck up on the ice, give it at least a day before you give me hell about it?  Depression fucks with my concentration, and missed meds doses play merry hell with the whole thing.  I’m not sure whether I’d be angrier at you or at myself for breaking down in the bus over chirping.’

‘Sure.  Breakdowns suck, particularly public ones.  Let’s not have that happen.  Do try to not throw the game, though, yeah?’

‘I mean, I’ll try, yeah.  For now I’mma try and sleep.’

‘G’night, Nursey.’

Dex rummaged around, taking longer than he might have getting changed for doing it in the dark and trying to be quiet.  Unlike usual, he didn’t pull the thicker curtains closed, so Nursey could stare up at the orange-lit ceiling as he tried to will himself to sleep.

With predictable results.

 

Dex was in the shower when Nursey woke up, fighting through cotton batting wrapped around his mind.  The curtains had been thrown open wider than he’d left them the last night, dawn flooding through entirely too enthusiastically.  The light hurt and all Nursey wanted to do was put a pillow over his face and bury himself in blankets.

When Dex got out of the bathroom, Nursey got up.

It was a hypersensitive day—great.  The shower was too hot—too cold—never that mythical _just right_ , the motel towels too scratchy, his clothes were too tight.  Dex gave him a quick once-over before they headed down to breakfast.

‘Got everything?’

_Not a “how are you?”  Telling, that.  Shit._

‘Think so.’

‘Dude.  Your phone’s on your pillow.  Let’s do a quick once-over, make sure nothing else gets left.’

They methodically tore the room apart—well, Dex was methodical; Nurse tore.  In doing so, they found two socks (only one was theirs; they left the other where it lay hidden beneath the bed) and Nursey’s deodorant he’d left behind.  They were ten minutes late for breakfast.

‘Good of you boys to join us.’

‘Running late cuz of your beauty sleep, Dex?’

‘Nah, Wicks.  Needed to freshen up after I finished with your mom.  She also thinks I’m beautiful.’

The chorus of ‘ohhhhhhhhhhh’ and the elaborate exchange of fistbumps between Dex, Ransom, and Holster distracted the team from Nursey sidling off to see what was available for food.  Institutional scrambled eggs; frosted flakes; runny oatmeal that had been stewing there for who knows how long—these were the choices available.  Pastries didn’t count, since none would compare to Bitty’s.  They were out of bagels.

Runny oatmeal it was, then.

Nursey returned to the table with that and a couple pieces of toast with peanut butter on them.  The teams’ bustle was a hum in the background—a pressure on his mental state, but nothing was getting through.

The oatmeal tasted like snot, but Nursey choked it down, knowing he had to eat _something_ before the game.  Lardo made sure everyone had their shit in order, squared up with the motel, and mother-ducked everyone onto the bus.

Nursey took the window seat, and Dex let him, settling in beside him with just a quick eyebrow query.  He responded with a half-shrug, half-head-tilt—somewhere between ‘meh’ and ‘fucked if I know?’.  Dex nodded and fished out his headphones.  The bus ride to Colgate wasn’t long, but it felt like everything was dragging—time circling around the drain before falling in.

Some squirt hockey event was letting out as they got in.  Lardo acted like an air traffic controller in getting everyone to get their bags off the bus.  Nursey wasn’t quite dazed—he was alert—there was just this.  Distance.  Between him and the world.

The sad part was that Nursey would never be able to use it to justify what happened when he picked up his bag.

He hoisted it up out of the underbelly of the bus, and slung it over his shoulder as he turns toward the rink they’d be playing in.  It should have been graceful—elegant, in other circumstances.  It wasn’t.  There was somehow a kid in the way, walking with a hockey bag of his own.  Maybe nine?  Nursey was no good at judging the age of children.

All these thoughts bubble up after Nursey’d hit the kid in the face with his hockey bag, having not seen him until after it had happened.

‘Oh, fuck.  Fuck, I’m sorry kid.’

‘Language, Nursey!’

‘Sorry, dude.  You alright?’

‘Nah, it’s cool.  Good luck with your game, bro.’

The kid smirked at him, kept walking.  Ransom applauded.

‘Nice check, Nurse.’

Jack’s comment left Bitty in hysterics.  Dex looked conflicted—like he wanted to laugh, to apologize to the kid on Nursey’s behalf, and possibly like he wanted to take out several of his teammates.  Being the subject of Dex’s protectiveness was weird, Nursey decided, but not necessarily unpleasant.

From there, it was a whirl of hockey and attempts to focus.  Nursey almost didn’t notice that Colgate’s forward he was covering was one of his erstwhile teammates from Andover—his headspace allowed for watching a player, but not listening.  For the best.  It was a physical game—Holster got a charging penalty early on, during which Colgate scored.  Their goalie stopped a dozen shots in the first period, but Jack tied it back up during the second.

During the break, Dex asked if he needed back-up on that forward.  Nursey shrugged.  Everyone else was tense, excited: if they won, they’d be one game closer to the playoffs.  They’d probably make it regardless of this game, given their record this season, but no one would turn down insurance—or another win.

Dex stole the puck on a poke check early in the second, and passed it to Nursey on a breakaway—Nursey scored on a half-blind shot.  Jack, Bitty, and Dex crashed into him, and he grinned fit to match theirs, even if it was only a reflex.  His goal got Nursey renewed attention from Colgate.  That forward gave him a couple rough checks, but nothing illegal.

‘Not so much of a gorilla are you anymore, eh, Gunga?’

Nurse’s brain picked the wrong time to start paying attention.  It wasn’t terribly creative, and Nursey might have been hurt if he’d been operating at full speed—it would probably catch up to him upon reflection—but it was there.  He did his best to ignore it, focus on force and direction and the muscle memory of skating.

Dex must have caught some part of got said.  Probably more than Nursey had.  The next time that forward had the puck, he careened across the rink—like a stooping falcon (a stooping phoenix?  Do phoenixes stoop?), Nursey’s unhelpful mind supplied—to crash the asshat into the boards.  He’d changed angle just before the collision, which somehow allowed Dex to evade any sort of charging penalty.  Dex nodded at Nursey before resuming more normal play.

They did win, after a goal by Colgate and another goal from Jack.  The locker room was boisterous and congratulatory.  Shitty chased Jack around—naked—with a towel, shouting something about Lupercalia; Jack picked Shitty up and carried him around until he got bored of it, then dumped him on the floor.  Nursey held himself apart.  His energy from the game wore out quickly, on accepting congratulations from his goal—deflecting to Dex for setting it up—and general celebration.  He’d completely fallen back in on himself by the time they were all on the bus.

‘Thanks for checking that dickbag on my behalf.’

Dex flopped down beside him, pulling out his Spanish book and some worksheets.

‘Yeah, dude.  Course.  Good goal, by the way.  You should consider a nap—you look beat.  Chowder’s making worry-eyes at you.’

‘You said you’d distract him.’

‘At dinner last night, yeah.  Can’t stop him from noticing how you’re not celebrating like the rest of us.’

‘Can’t I get Lardo to just tell everyone for me?’  Nursey rummaged through his backpack for his travel pillow that he knew he had forgotten to pack.

‘Probably not.  Too many questions, too many details you’d have to, like, fill in?  I can tell him we’ll talk back at school if you like, though.’

‘Please?  I really just wanna curl up and sleep.’

‘So go to sleep, then.  No one will bug you.  At least not on the bus.’

Nursey decided then—a conscious decision echoing so many less conscious decisions—to trust Dex.  He balled his jacket up and held it between the window, his shoulder, and his cheek.  Sleep was not swift in coming, but he zoned out almost immediately, eyes mostly closed, observing the roadside scenery without actually paying it any attention.

He woke with a start as motion shifted his head.  Nursey wasn’t leaning against the window; his jacked had fallen down over one arm.  Instead, he was—shitshitshit—snuggled up against Dex, who had woken him by moving.

‘Sorry.  We’ve got an hour or so left before we’re back,’ Dex murmured.  ‘Chowder’s gone full protective goalie on your behalf, so celebrations are mostly in the front of the bus.  Go back to sleep.’

Nurse closed his eyes and tried not to think about how weird it was that Dex hadn’t shoved him off while he was sleeping—had apologized, even, for disturbing him—and just told him to go back to sleep like he was used to being a pillow.  Long car trips and tired siblings, maybe?

‘You have to turn your brain off to go to sleep, Nurse.’

‘Ah, so that’s been my problem all along, then,’ Nursey croaked, throat dry.  ‘Good to know that insomnia’s got such an easy cure.’

Dex harrumphed, shifting without trying to dislodge Nursey, and said nothing more.  Nursey imagined the eye roll that had accompanied the end of the exchange and smiled as he tried to blank his mind and drift off to sleep.

 

They were the last off the bus again.  Nursey woke, strung out on half-sleep, when Dex moved.  Apparently he’d exhausted his quota of gentleness.  He caught himself mid-slump, looked up groggily at the ginger now standing, smirking, in the aisle.

‘We’re home, Nurse.  Chowder said he’d get your bag as far as the curb while you were waking up.  Don’t forget your jacket.’

Nursey put his jacket on, got his backpack, and trudged off the bus, following Dex.  As promised, Chowder had his own and Nursey’s bags on the shoveled sidewalk.  Dex thanked the goalie with a nod, getting a bright smile in return.  Nurse was struck how one could gauge Chowder’s smiles by the amount of metal they revealed.  This one was a bit forced.

Dex hefted Nursey’s bag and tossed it to (at?) him.  Nursey caught it, staggering backward a step.  Chowder rolled his eyes, smile tempered to a grin.  The Frogs fell in beside each other and headed back to the dorms.

‘Frog night in my room, Nursey?’

‘Just us?  Not gonna invite Caitlin over when you’ve been gone a day and a half?’

‘Nah—she’s at a tournament all weekend.  We’ll get pizza and watch a shitty movie.  Sound good?’

‘This sounds like a trap.’  Nursey offered Chowder an appraising look.

Chowder, it turned out, was bad at faces intended to look innocent.

‘It’s a miracle you fool Bitty, dude.’

‘If he’s gonna decide I’m a kid because of how I look and how excited I get, I should get some sort of recompense out of it.  Plus, this way you escape his mothering tendencies.’

Dex had on an expression like that wasn’t the case, but said nothing.  They arrived at Chowder’s dorm.

‘Aight, Chowder.  Meet you at yours in, like, half an hour?’

‘Sounds good!’

‘See you, then.’  Chowder waved as he walked into his dorm.

Nursey and Dex carried on, quieter now without their goalie.

‘How’s today for you?’  His voice was calm, gentle, quiet.  Entirely weird—Nursey suddenly imagined Dex as the quieter of tantrums or handler of dangerous animals.

‘Should be good, based on the game?  Should be terrible, based on my brain hating me?  It’s a weird mix of both—like, not cancelling each other out, but like… the thing—in physics.  With the electrons and the slits and the waves.’  Nurse gestured with his hands, like that could bring to mind a more complete description of the phenomenon he was trying to describe.

‘Quantum interference?’

‘Yeah!’

‘But that’s from one electron, and how—oh.  Like superposition states?  The Schrodinger thing?’

‘Oh, right.  That poor cat.  Yeah, that’s a better description.’

‘Look at you, though, all science-y.’

‘Andover started us with physics, then chem, with bio last.  But yeah.  It’s, like, both at once and dissonant.  I dunno if I can handle a party tonight.’

‘Then we won’t go.  We’ve already got movies and pizza lined up.  You should go take your meds, before you shower.  I’m gonna text you to remind you when I head back over to Chowder’s.  Or do they have to be taken at a specific time of day?  Or with food?’

‘I missed a dose, so it’s pretty much flux for a day or two.  Food’s not strictly required, but rarely a bad thing.  Anyway, I’mma go shower.  Meet back at Chowder’s, then.  Yeah?’

‘Ayuh.’

They split off to their respective dorms.  Nurse flopped his bag into the middle of the room in a spot clear of the floordrobe.  Dirty, well, everything got tossed into the pile in the closet.  He’d have to deal with that in pretty short order, because some of it was _rank_.  He stripped and, before he went to shower, dry swallowed his meds.  Then he walked, towel-clad, out into the beginnings of the Saturday night frenzy toward the showers.

Nursey felt better after his shower, like he’d washed some of the detritus of the day off—never mind the shower he’d taken immediately after the game.  Dex’s reminder text was waiting when he got back to his room.  Nursey didn’t respond to it.  He just walked over to Chowder’s room.  Carded himself into the door and walked up to the goalie’s room.

Chowder was there, hair still wet from his own shower, in basketball shorts and a Sharks hoodie.  Dex had already arrived, too, copper hair neatly combed and extending just over the collar of his flannel.  He turned toward Nursey, face serious, and Nursey was suddenly apprehensive.

‘You okay, dude?’

‘Yeah, just… yeah.  It’s chill.’  And, suddenly, it was.  Dex grimaced at him.

‘This isn’t a fucking firing squad, Nurse.  You don’t have to put your game face on for us.  I already know, and Chowder just wants to help.  Right?’

‘Yeah!’  He had his best and most persuasive I-don’t-know-what’s-going-on-but-I-love-and-support-you face on.  ‘You seemed sad on the bus after the game—well, more even than yesterday—and I didn’t know how to help and—’

‘It’s fine, C.  You help by letting me do my thing.  It’s better when I’m not being treated like I’m fragile or damaged or… whatever.  This was just a combination of a couple bad days and forgetting my meds in my room so I didn’t have ‘em on the roadie.’

‘Meds?  Are you—’ Dex put his hand over Chowder’s mouth, groaning as Chowder licked it.

‘Depression, Chowder.  I have depression.  My brain low-key hates me and then I get stuck wallowing in it and it’s just mad charming, yes.’

Dex removed his hand, wiping it on Chowder’s shirt with a grimace.

‘I—sorry.  That was hella uncool of me.  Do you want a hug?’

‘I mean, it won’t fix it, but I will always accept hugs.’

Chowder flung himself at Nursey, who braced for impact when he saw it coming.  Chowder hugged with every fiber of his being, like he could squeeze someone enough that his affection would seep in.

Dex stood there, awkward.

‘You, too, Pointy.  You don’t hafta, if you don’t want to, but hugs are A Good, yaknow?’

Dex rolled his eyes, then took a quick glance around the single.  Took a couple steps to one side, and then tackled the two of them onto Chowder’s bed.

‘Frogpile!’ Chowder shouted to nobody in particular.  He let Nursey loose long enough for him to get an arm around Dex, too.  No one was exempt from his care.  Dex shifted around so that Nursey was sandwiched on the bed between the other two Frogs.  It was nice, he thought.

‘Pizza’s not gonna be here for, like, twenty minutes.’

‘Good.’

* * *

The bus was the worst sort of quiet on the way back from St. Paul’s—no actual noises, just the volume of the road and the snow and the tires, some electrical hums, and the post-loss tension thick in the air.  It hadn't been a good end to the season: falling apart hilariously in the first round of the playoffs.  They’d done so well at the end of the regular season, too.  But here they were—sullen in the way of thwarted teenage boys.  On a bus that smelled like them and hockey.

Shitty was sacked out across a pair of seats opposite Nurse, headphones in, mouth open, drooling slightly onto his arm.  Nurse occupied the window seat opposite him, a small stack of books getting more use as seat-claimant than as textbook.  He tucked a foot up under himself and hunched over a moleskine, scratching lines and words and stray thoughts in for later organization.  A world seen through glass; the motion of blood on ice; the temperature of sunlight in winter.  Nothing central to tie them all around yet, but it was clearly the beginning of something.

Or, it would have been.  Nurse looked up for a second, just in time to see Greg—Gooner, despite being skinny and short—looming over the back of his seat and leaning down to snatch the notebook from Nurse’s hand.

‘Whatcha got there, Nurse?  Writing a letter home to… wherever you’re from?’

‘From New York, dipshit, and no.  It’s a notebook.  If you had thoughts to write, you might use one.’

‘Shit, man, I can’t read any of this—what language is it in?  Hey Shorter—this look like Arabic to you?’  Greg passed off the notebook.

‘Please give me my notebook back.  Also, and I can’t believe I have to ask this, please stop being racist.’  Nurse wished Shitty were awake.  Nurse wished he didn’t have to wish Shitty were awake, that he didn’t need a nearly-literal white Knight. 

‘Dude, Nurse.  No need to escalate like that.’  Shorter’s smile was condescending and smug.  ‘Nothing racist about wondering whether you can write in Arabic—your handwriting is pretty terrible, so I can understand why Gooner might have thought it.  Plus, you’re in like six different language classes.’  The captain-elect flipped through Nurse’s moleskine, making appreciative noises as if he could read it.  He looked up and smiled.  ‘It’s not bad, Nurse.  Thanks for loaning it to me.  I’ll get it back to you later, with comments.’

The blood drained from Nurse’s face.  He was glad it probably didn’t show, in the same way blushes didn’t on his tawny skin.  Not trusting himself to say anything, because he was sure at this point that anything that extended the conversation would make everything worse, he just nodded.

Lesson: keep your words to yourself, too.

* * *

His hair was too short.  Kelly had shorn most of it off once he’d gotten home from the hospital—had meant it as a kindness, to even out what was left with what had been torn out.  William thought it just made the scabbing stand out all the more: some rust amongst his fiery curls—what had been his curls, anyway—would be rather less noticeable than patches of crusted flesh and soon-to-be-scar tissue with just a thin fuzz of orange to cover over his pale scalp.  If he ever went outside again, he’d have to put sunblock on his head.  That would just do wonders for his hair, too.

‘How are you today, Billy?’  His ma stood at the doorway to his room—she’d obviously been up for hours already.  With all the electronic lights removed from his room, it was hard to tell what time it was—there no analog clock, and digital gave off too much light.  There was at least some daylight—muffled, buffered, just like the thoughts and feelings filtering through his head—outside, although it was impossible to tell the direction.

‘No change, Ma.  Scalp hurts; hand hurts.  Wanna be not in bed.’ He knew his desire to be up and about was irrelevant.  ‘S’a bit dim in here.  It cloudy out?’

‘Just a dite.  Storm’s comin’ in again tomorrow.  You want the curtains open today?’

‘Please.’

Ma walked into the room as if that were an invitation—as if she needed the invitation.  She drew back the curtains to reveal the sort of high cloud cover so beloved of late-spring tourists with nice cameras.

‘Doc says you can read today, if you like.’

‘Kelly bored of reading to me already?’

‘If you’re still not feeling up to it, I’m sure she’d be happy to.  Do you want me to get her?’

‘Only if you’re sure it’s no bother.’

‘I’ll go ask her, Billy.  You just hang tight.’  William had stopped protesting the reversion of his name to childhood.  Wigging out on a boat made no argument toward adulthood.

William didn’t want to hang tight or sit still or be fucking _Billy_.  He wanted to scream.

‘I hear I’ve been summoned.’  Kelly walked into the room some minutes later with an enormous water bottle in one hand and Miss Match on her shoulder.  She’d complained over the prior few days about the toll that reading aloud took on her throat.

‘Only if you want, Kells.’

The cat jumped down with a flick of her tail once Kelly stopped moving and stalked from the room.

‘Oh, my darling William, you should know by now that I am always here for you unless you want me to do something personally unpleasant or something illegal with a high risk of getting caught.  What do you want to have me read you?  Something with fewer voices to do than _Hogfather_ , I hope.’

‘Was mostly hoping for company, if it’s not a problem?  It’s so _boring_ in here, and I’m not allowed to get up.’  He wasn’t pouting.  He _wasn’t_.  ‘If you wanna read something, it’s your pick.’

‘Sure.  I’ll be right back, then.  I’ve been reading Twelfth Night.’  She left, and quickly returned.  ‘I’ve just started Act II, scene iii, so I’ll back up to the beginning there.  Sir Toby and Sir Andrew are drinking in Olivia’s house.  “Approach, Sir Andrew: not to be abed after midnight is to be up betimes; and 'diluculo surgere,' thou know'st,—”’

William lay back and listened to his sister’s lively reading of a play she was clearly familiar with—she kept giggling at the jokes, even as she read them out.  He let his attention drift some, because he was not nearly so conversant with the play—or with theater generally—and before he knew it, he was asleep again.

_It was the same storm, and he was out on the boat.  Sam, Nate, and Tyler were all there, and he knew—somehow—that Uncle Ed was at the wheel.  Somewhere, too, Dylan was supervising.  In a way that involved no interacting with the younger hands._

_This had happened before; this was how—_ Fuck _.  He was dreaming.  William tried to will himself awake, but that was apparently not an available option.  The dream glossed over the other hands’ shitty company, at least until the jibes distracted him enough that he let the trap slip._

_William watched, knowing what was coming—helpless to either step out of the way of Nate’s elbow or to reach out in time to catch the badly-balanced trap as it fell over the side.  Nevertheless, William lunged, off-balance himself, to catch it; all he got was the hauling line, which sliced through his glove and bit into his hand as he tried to catch it, yanking him to the rails._ That’s probably what caused some of the bruising _, he thought, detached from this rerun of a dream.  It hit another trap on its way up with sufficient force to snap the loop connecting it to the hauling line, and both traps fell into the ocean, lobster still inside.  Dex looked down, again, to see what he already knew: his hand was cut fairly deep and bleeding freely.  
_

_Dylan appeared just in time to see the results_.  _He cussed out William, ordered him away from the decks if he was going to be actively un-useful.  Made no mention of his dripping injury.  The storm caught the boat while William was inside, washing out his injury.  Unwarned, William didn’t secure himself in time.  He woke up just as the ship's motion in the sudden waves stole his balance and he fell, head-first toward a table._

And then William was awake, struggling against pinioning arms and breathing like he was being chased.  There were sheets.  Someone was rubbing his back, even as he struggled to escape.  Sounds filtered back in—the rustling of sheets, his own frantic breathing, Kelly reassuring him that he was fine, that he was safe, that things were alright.

Still uncertain he could speak, William rolled over and curled himself up in Kelly’s arms, as if they could protect him from, well, everything.

It took longer for him to notice he was crying than for him to stop.

It occurred to William, then, that Kelly had appointed herself Ryan’s successor in keeping him whole.


	5. Chapter 5

Dex hustled through the snow, pleased that it was late enough in the winter that even the paths that in other seasons would be off concrete had been trodden down enough to provide a nice packed surface.  It was bright and sunny and cold—perfect weather for the end of February.  Normally he might want to wander around in the snow for a bit, but had had somewhere to be: Bitty should be alone (baking—almost certainly baking) in the Haus for the next forty-odd minutes.  Bitty would be safe to come out to, and unlikely to tell anyone if Dex asked him not to.

He wasn’t hurrying to avoid stress about the impending conversation.  He wasn’t.

By the time he was climbing the Haus’s porch steps, Dex was reduced to mentally compiling a list of Haus-maintenance projects.  He couldn’t tell whether he was shivering or shaking, and nevermind his coat.  The door opened, and warmth washed over him—Beyonce and the smell of baking pastry and proof that he’d fixed the furnace (again) earlier in the week.

Bitty was whisking something in a large metal bowl—a bit of which had gotten into his hair somehow—an apron over his tank top.  When he spoke, he didn’t look up.

‘Hey, Bitty.’

‘Hey Dex—how’re you?’

‘’M alright, Bitty—how’re you?  What’re you making?’

‘Three different kinds of quiche, all packed with enough protein that even Jack Zimmermann won’t be able to complain.’

‘And how much butter’s in the crust?’

‘Hush, you.’

‘Sure.  I’ll just set up at the table then.’

Dex did so, fully aware that he was stalling—wasting what time he might have for this.  He looked up at Bitty’s back, wasn’t sure he could even address that.  He might be able to manage talking to the table at Bitty.

‘You want anything, hon?  There’s pie from earlier.  Just apple, no chocolate.’

‘From your project with Jack?’

‘An early attempt at it, yeah.’

‘Jack did the lattice?’  Dex smirked as he asked, knowing the answer.

‘He’s working on it.  And you have no room to talk, mister.  I don’t even trust you with crust yet.  After all, there’s your brother to consider.’

Even though he probably deserved that, Dex still felt appropriately stung.  

‘Bitty?’  His voice sounded small, even to himself. Bitty looked up from his whisking.

‘Yeah, hon?’

‘If I tell you about Ryan, will you stop bringing up my brother like he’s all I’m destined to be?  I know now that I started off fairly shitty, but—’

‘You don’t have to tell me, Dex.  You made it pretty clear you don’t wanna talk about him.  I guess I’m just… curious.  About whatever happened there.  And your—or your brother’s—issues with gay people.’

Dex could feel the tension climbing up his arms into his shoulders, like they were slowly turning to stone or tree roots.  He took a deep breath, which almost served to steady him.  He had to say something, but wasn’t sure how much would tumble out when he opened his mouth.

‘At least one of my sisters is gay—Kelly, the one I’m close with.  ‘Leen doesn’t seem to have discovered romance in any way she’s talking about yet.  Ryan—I’m pretty sure he was—’ deep breath ‘—is gay.  James—James takes after my parents.  He’s nine years older’n me, and seven older’n Kells.  He’s wrong about a bunch of stuff, but I’m still—’

There was thunder on the stairs—well, footsteps.  A clattering at Holster’s usual volume, with Ransom close behind.  They rattled the floor as they landed—Holster jumped the last four(?) stairs.  One of these days a floorboard was going to give out beneath their feet and it was going to be hilarious and awful.

‘Bit-tay!  Bro, good news!  Oh, hey Dex.’

‘Like Holster said, Bits—good news!  We got you a screw date!’

‘Yeah, bro.  Sorry about setting you up with one that fell through.  Let it not be said—’

‘—that we do not fix our mistakes.  So, this guy.  He—’

‘You still dead-set on going stag, Dexy?  We can hook you up, even with the dance tonight.  Excel is a loving and forgiving god, and provides bounty even on short notice.’

‘—is tall, dark-haired, built.  Plays rugby.  Known to be a gentleman.  We want to make sure’ the juniors turned as one on Bitty and said, in creepy unison, ‘that you get treated _right_.’

Bitty sighed.  Dex rolled his eyes, inwardly.  So much for any further useful conversation.  After confirming—again—that he was entirely fine without a date that night, Dex started a text to Chowder as the attic residents finished their pitch to Bitty about Rugby Guy.  Ransom’s interjection to Dex had not interrupted their patter in the least.

 **Me:** You got lunch plans?

 **Chowder:** Yeah, sorry—off campus with Caitlin

 **Me:** have fun!

 **Chowder:** thanks!  We’re on for this afternoon, yeah?

 **Me:** Yeah—see you then.  And Nurse.

So much for that thought.  Dex left for the East Quad dining hall.  He checked his mail on the way—nothing, as expected (but you never know).  Lunch was nothing terribly special, so Dex was in and out of the dining hall in under ten minutes.  From there he headed to lin al, his last class for the day.

 

The frogs spent that afternoon studying in Founder’s.  They’d taken over a corner far enough back in the stacks that it wouldn’t disturb too many students if (when) they got loud.  If a wrestling match broke out, say.  Or if Nursey needed to declaim some poetry.  Or if Dex or Chowder felt compelled to yell at their code, curses intended to encourage cooperation.  Or if Nursey and Dex got into a fight.  The last of those, naturally, was the real worry, at least for Chowder.  Midterms loomed, and Nursey was retreating into his chill and his chirping. 

Dex wasn’t worried about his midterms yet.  He was, though, residually both tense and disappointed that he hadn’t managed to finished talking to Bitty that morning.  Also vaguely out of sorts about the dance and all his conflicting feelings on it—and on Nurse, who was happy to talk about the guy Holster’d set him up with.  Stupid feelings.

So far, there had been no major incidents, even when Dex and Nursey’s table territory collided and their notes got mixed up as they slid to the floor.  Nursey, to Dex’s untrained eye, looked like he was shuffling through his papers at random and occasionally jotting notes down in any of four different notebooks.  For his part, Dex was trying to keep the vitriol at his laptop and his program and this problem set to a minimum.  He was mostly succeeding.

‘Poindexter.  You get a lot more creative with words when you’re trying to hold off from murdering something.’

‘Funny, Nurse—I thought you’d have picked up on that by now.  Or are you just waiting and planning your responses when we argue?’

‘I—’

 ‘Guys.  _Studying_.  Dex—help me with this problem set.  What number are you on?’

Chowder's voice had the beginnings of goalie-tone to it; compliance was not optional.  They studied, and the tension eased.  Nursey started actually typing up something, so maybe his notebooks were the planning stages for a paper or a poem or whatever.  In talking with Chowder, Dex solved his own issues with their problem set. 

Then Chowder’s phone rang.  He answered with a goofy grin and walked out of the library, talking in hushed tones at odds with either of Chowder’s normal modes of interaction.  Nursey raised an eyebrow at Dex, asking a question if Dex cared to take it that way.

‘Probably Andrea.'  Flat look from Nursey.  'You know—his twin sister.  He gets homesick pretty fierce, and they’re like, R&H style in-each-others’-heads.  …what?’

Nursey’s making a face at Dex like he grew another head.  Dex ignored it and kept working.  Nursey must have done, too, until his curiosity got the better of him.

‘How do you know all that?  That’s…’

‘We talked about it, Nursey, for fuck’s sake.  He told me at length about his twin sister and how awesome she is.  He’s mentioned her at team activities before, I’m sure of it.  I told him about the rest of the Weasleys—I mean Poindexters.’

‘How…’  Nursey looked like he was unsure of everything about the conversation, so Dex decided he should supply both parts of it for a moment.

‘Yes, you can ask.  Assuming you want to, and assuming that what you want to ask is about my siblings, I’m the fifth of six.  It’s James, Ryan, Siobhan, Kelly, me, and Eileen.  James is an asshole, has a family of his own to indoctrinate, and has never left town or Maine.  Jokes that I’m gonna become an outta-statah like it’s a bad thing or a betrayal.  Siobhan’s in community college an hour away, majoring in nursing.  Kells got herself a full ride to Bates for something related to theater.  Eileen’s a freshman in high school.  And no, we’re not all redheads.  D’you have any siblings?’

‘I… no.  Also, I.  Sorry.  This is just.  Weird?  I mean, not your family.  But, like, talking about families.  It’s not a thing, really.  At least it wasn’t at Andover.  Or, like, no one cared to ask about mine.  I’m gonna shut up now.’

‘So you don’t have siblings?  That makes so much sense.’  Dex smirked, triumphant.  ‘And I’m going to save this memory of your utter lack of chill for when it’s most useful.  So, thanks for that.’

Before Nursey could reply, Chowder burst back into the library.  ‘Guys!  You didn’t kill each other while I was gone, did you?’

‘Nah, C.  Dex just listed off all his siblings for me and let me know that he really is like the real-world Weasleys.  I’m only paraphrasing slightly.’

‘It usually steals the joke out from under people.  Also, can’t possibly kill him here.  Too much blood, too many witnesses, and nowhere to hide the body.’

‘Look at you two, getting along!  Did you get any work done, or were you just talking?’

‘Mostly talking.  You were gone, like, eight minutes, dude.’

‘How’s Andrea, C?’  Dex saved his work, shut his laptop, and started packing up.

‘She’s good!  She was telling me all about how they’re staging King Lear in the round for the end of their term and about her theater friends and she declared that she needs to come to a kegster to tell me properly whether or not their theater parties are better.  She sounded kinda unsure.’

‘Hah—sounds chill.  We should head off to dinner before the dance, yeah?  Lay down a decent layer of carbs.’

Dex rolled his eyes and huffed. 

‘What—surely your family taught you how to get properly drunk, Dex?’

‘I’m going to try to extend the good feeling of the afternoon and therefore ignore that, Nurse.  Just because I’m going to Screw stag doesn’t mean I intend to get shitfaced.  Also, getting drunk at a dance with a date you don’t know seems like a terrible idea.  Let’s hit up the dining hall and then see what kind of pre-game pie Bitty’s made?’

‘Good call.  I hope there’re chicken tenders tonight.  Also, tell your sister that hockey parties are better.  I’ve been to both.’

‘Would they really do chicken tenders on the night of Screw?  So messy.’

‘My dear Billiam, people with dates will eat dinner before the dance _and then go change_.  I could still get you a date, you know.’

‘No, Nurse.  Chowder still wants me to not murder you for whatever reason.  Please don’t mention any more potentials to me, or I’ll tell Bits to add you to the list of people who shouldn’t get pie.’

‘That’s so not chill.’

‘How do you have that power, Dex?’

‘He said to tell him if Ransom and Holster kept bugging me about going stag—or just not going—and he’d withhold pie.  I assume this would extend to others on the team pressuring me to get a date.’

‘Cold, man.’

‘There’s a simple solution, Nurse: don’t fucking bug me about this one.  If you can manage that, you’ll have all the pie Bitty would otherwise shower you with.’  The words came out sharper than Dex meant them, but he couldn’t bring himself to walk it back.

‘Mmmmmmm pie showers.  Chilllll.’

‘That would be hella gross, Nursey.  All, like, sticky and… ew.’  Chowder shuddered.

'Don't kink-shame me, Chowder.'

Everyone seemed to have collectively decided that they needed to have an early dinner that night—Screw started at 7, so the dining hall was packed at 5:30.  There were, in fact, chicken tenders that evening.  Dex managed to dodge Nursey’s inevitable failure at equilibrium, and just had to wipe drinks and sauces off the chair he’d been planning to sit in.  Having done that, he stole the seat Nursey’d chosen in retaliation.

The frogs went their separate ways after that—Dex back to his dorm for a while, Chowder and Nursey to go change for their dates.  Dex did his best to not mope in his room.  It had, after all, been his decision to go stag (and his decision to not come out, and to be belligerent about it, and…).  He showered and got at least reasonably dressed up before heading out to meet up with Chowder at the student center.

Chowder had combed his hair.  The bangs still flopped forward over his face some, but it looked intentional now.  And, like, _good_.  He was normally buried under several layers of shirts and hoodies, but teal (naturally) button-down and his jacket fit and—well.

This was not the first time Dex realized that his friends were hot.  It wasn’t even the most awkward time.  Just inconvenient from a comparative perspective.  He grabbed a glass of lemonade.

‘Hey Dex!  I’m Thumper, looking for Bambi.’

Dex choke-laughed.  ‘Wow.  Really?  Um.’

‘Yeah, it’s a bit gross, but, like, also a bit cute?  Maybe?  I’m gonna go with it’s cute.  You can’t stop me.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it Chow.  Farmer’s gonna be Bambi, then?’

‘Yeah!  Can’t wait to see her!  I got dressed up and everything!’

‘Chill, Chowder.  I bet she can’t wait to see you, too.  Hey Dexy.  You came after all.’

Nurse could stop traffic.  Tight jeans, fashionably worn (probably cost extra to come that way), possibly painted on.  A soft-looking dark grey v-neck under an open green button-down, tight in the shoulders and sleeves rolled up to accentuate rather than minimize his arms.  He’d also done—something—to his hair; Dex didn’t know what, but knew better (now) than to ask.

‘Said I would, yeah.  Suspect there’ll be pretty good people-watching tonight.’

‘How adventurous of you.  Gonna stand at the wall and get drunk?’

‘Nah, I’ll leave the table-dancing to you, Nurse.  Gotta let you impress your date.  Also gonna spare myself a hangover.’

‘Fortunately, _I_ don’t get hangovers.’

‘Not even when you go full blackout?  God, fuck your genetics, dude.’

‘Don’t make offers you won’t follow through on.’

‘How do you know I wouldn’t?’

‘Well, for firstly you’re a republican, and I don’t get off on self-hate.’  Nursey grinned, as if he had a good roll lined up.  ‘For secondly, you’re straight, and I don’t believe in three-beer queers.  For thirdly—’

‘I’m not—’  Dex blushed furiously. 

‘What’s your match-name, Nursey?  I’m Thumper looking for Bambi.’  Chowder interrupted, sounding somewhere between desperate and irked.  Nursey sniggered.  Dex was pretty sure Chowder had misinterpreted his blush, and certain Nursey had, too—if he’d even noticed.

‘I bet you are, dude.    How does Farmer feel about that?  Anyway, I’m—’

‘You, uh, look to be Romeo.  Someone thought it reasonable to declare me Juliet?’ 

The guy who’d just walked up to them was, Dex thought grudgingly, pretty enough for Nurse.  A bit shorter than him—not quite six feet.  Less pale than Dex, with hair—and a neatly trimmed beard—midway between blond and brown.  He wore a polo shirt that matched his eyes, a light blue too soft to ever hit Jack’s intensity, and dark jeans that showcased his ass.  His shirt had a Hi My Name Is… nametag on it: Juliet.

Dex took a long pull of his lemonade so he wouldn’t _just_ be staring at this dude.

‘Hey!  Well, uh, hi there.’  Nurse looked like his words died on his tongue as he looked at his screw date.  ‘But you’re right, we should have been, like, Antonio and Bassanio or something.’

Juliet—whatever his real name was—nodded like he knew what Nurse was talking about.  They shook hands and introduced themselves to each other—Derek, Jake, good to meet you, dude.  He played tennis.  They nodded at Dex and Chowder and wandered off.

‘You okay, Dex?  Your shoulders are hella tense.’

‘If I said yes, would you believe me?’

‘No.  But I wouldn’t press you just now.’

‘Then I’m fine, Chowder.  Thanks.’

‘But if you want to talk, unless it’s that Nurse is going on a date with a dude, then I’m happy to listen.’

‘That’s so very, very far from the issue.  I promise you.’

‘Okay, good.’

‘Like I told Bitty this morning.  I have at least one—probably two, although I don’t have confirmation there—queer siblings.  I’m not my asshole brother.’

‘Which one’s that?’

‘James.  The one who’s still around to talk about.’

‘Oh.  Um.  Sorry.’

‘No, not like—’

Dances, it turned out, were terrible places to have serious conversations.  Farmer had spotted them, waved, and waded through the crowd to arrive just at that point in his explanation.  She jumped at Chowder, forcing him to quickly hand his lemonade to Dex so he’d have both arms free to catch her.  It only sloshed a little bit out of the glass.

‘Hi, Thumper.’  She smirked, equal parts danger and glee.  ‘I’m Bambi.’

‘And we are all shocked to learn this, Caitlin.  You missed Nurse bitching about the heteronormativity of being given Romeo and Juliet, and here you are with the names of two male characters.  It’s perfect.’

Chowder set Farmer down and got a proper hug from her.  Once released, she tugged her mousey brown hair out from under her scarf and offered Dex a belated wave of greeting.

‘Hey Dex.  I hope you didn’t point that out to him—he’d have gotten jealous of us.  No date for you tonight?’

‘Nah.  Couldn’t trust Andrew to not fuck it up, and wouldn’t trust Rans and Holster to not take it, like, sixteen times too seriously.  Plus, they set up well over half the team already.  No need to make them work harder than they already were.’

‘That… sounds like a whoooooole lot of excuses, there, William.’

‘No need to tease Dex, Cait.’

‘Wasn’t teasing.  Just calling bullshit.’

‘No need to do that, either.  I’m sure he’s got reasons for it.’

Caitlin stood there, watching.  Waiting.  Oh, well.  It had been an admissions sort of day, even if none of them had actually gone off. 

‘There are.  Is that enough for you to leave it, Farmer?’

‘For now, William.  For now.’

Dex supposed it would have to do.

‘What’re you two planning to do for the dance?  What movie’s showing, anyway?’

‘Guardians of the Galaxy, I think?’

‘Oh, nice!  To answer your question, I dunno—hadn’t talked to Cait about it.  You just gonna, like, hang out here?’

Dex shrugged, like that was a sufficient answer.  Caitlin raised an eyebrow at him and—maintaining eye contact—leaned over into Chowder’s space to whisper something into his ear.  He grinned at her and nodded vigorously.  They both suddenly looked shifty, and Dex eyed them with suspicion.  After a moment, they broke into grins and swooped in on either side of him, linking their arms through his.

‘What.  What is happening.  Where are we going?’

‘Come on, Friend Owl.’

‘The fuck?’

‘Oh, come on, William.  You’re either Friend Owl or Flower the skunk.  Those are your choices.  And either way, you’re coming with us and we’re going to all go hang out in my dorm room because leaving you to mope with your jealousy and stodginess and unresolved issues is good for no one.  Also, my roommate will be out tonight and that means we can borrow her Sentinels of the Multiverse.’

As Farmer spoke, the pair of them were steering Dex out of the student center.  They made it very clear that, first, there was no arguing here, and second, it would be a good time for all.  He allowed himself to feel happy about that, even if it was tinged with guilt—they were losing out on a prime date night to, like, comfort him or whatever.  He did his best to not let his thoughts pile on, with limited success.

‘You’re frowning, William.  I thought we covered this: you are not imposing.’

‘Yeah!  It’s not like Caitlin and I don’t get to see each other lots already—and this whole Screw thing is, like, hella contrived?  When you’re already dating someone?  So this gives us an excuse to, well, not do that.’

‘Okay.  Sorry.  Thanks.’

Chowder was shivering beside him, somehow.  Californians.  Farmer, on the other hand, had never taken her coat off.  Just gotten her sticker, slapped it on, and walked up to Chowder.  Dex rolled his eyes.

‘I know you probably don’t trust me to not, like, bolt or whatever if you release my arm, but for the love of God, Chowder, take my scarf and put it on.  If you freeze like this, you wouldn’t be in the right clothes to be a black-and-teal icicle, and that would only increase the tragedy of the whole thing.’

‘I’m finnnnnne.’  Chowder responded, teeth chattering.

‘Also, you’re lying.’  Farmer used her free hand to remove Dex’s scarf—a thick, fluffy, blue one that Dex secretly loved because it looked nice with his hair—and swatted at Chowder with it.

‘Hey, now—careful with that.  It’s Dex’s favorite.’  Chowder caught the loose end of the scarf the second time Farmer flicked him with it, and wrapped it around his neck at almost strangulation tightness.

‘How do you know that?’  Dex watched the other students wandering around, mostly in pairs, often holding hands or linked arms.  Despite his worries, people seemed to pay the three of them no particular mind.

‘It’s the one you always wear when you want to look good—or when you’re sad and don’t want to let on.  Which was tonight?’

‘Um.  Both?  Like, I wasn’t sure what to do with myself, and I didn’t want to, like, mope in my room alone or whatever.  But I also didn’t want to show up looking like a slob?  Even if I wasn’t going to be interacting with anyone?’

‘And yet, William, here you are.’

They turned toward Nursey’s—Farmer’s—dorm, and Chowder immediately relaxed as the warmth of the great in-of-doors washed over him.  Dex couldn’t even bring himself to chirp him for it.

 ‘You know what I meant, Farmer.’

‘Did I?’ Farmer responded, smirking, just as Chowder chimed in with ‘Did she?’

They high-fived.

‘God you two are gross.’

‘We hadn’t noticed.’

They filed into Farmer’s room—a clean if slightly messy double with a few framed posters and photos on each wall—and she nudged some piles around so that Dex could sit on the cushy chair.  Chowder flopped immediately down on Caitlin’s bed, starfishing among a topography of blankets and pillows.  After moving laundry to the closet, Caitlin fished around on her roommate’s side of the dorm room and came out with an enormous box with some old-school looking superheroes and a fair amount of lightning on it.

‘So.  We brought you here to play a deck-based game involving legally-distinct-from-source-material superheroes trashing similarly near-misses of major comic book villains.  It’s fully co-op, and the villain is automated—Chris can handle its turns.  I will be playing K.N.Y.F.E., an energy-beam wielding sorta-berzerker who started off working for Scotland Yard.  Who do you wanna be, babe?’

Chowder realized that they were going to have to play on the floor, so he stole a pillow to sit on and a blanket to wrap up in.  Farmer tossed her body pillow to Dex, who folded it into a nearly-functional seat that would only stay stable if he sat on it, which he then did.

‘You nearly always play her.  I don’t understand how you are so good with her.  No one else can ever do so much damage.  For my hero, I was thinking Ra, tonight.  Setting things on fire is always fun.  What kind of character d’you wanna play, Dex?’

Dex paused a moment to consider, but got distracted first by wondering what Nurse and Juliet were up to—and then by shutting down that train of thought.

‘Um?  Is there a tank that’s got some kind of self-healing?  That seems like a good way to usefully round out the party here.  You’ll have to explain the rules to me, too.’

‘We’ll get to rules in a sec—first we have to figure out who we’re playing and who we’re fighting.  Should we start with revenge-minded totally-not-Dr. Doom or a variation on any number of self-aware human extermination bots?’

‘Let’s shut down a robot.’

‘Cool—pull out the Omnitron deck, Chris?  Also, for your healy tank, do you want to be totally-not-superman, who’s pretty badass himself, can do a bit of healing, and a fair amount of damage, or do you want to be The Dude from the Big Lebowski?’

‘I’ll abide.’

‘Excellent!  Here’s your deck.’

Farmer, while Chowder took over setting up the various decks, explained the rules to Dex.  It took Dex a moment to figure out how best to run the Scholar, but he caught on by the second game.  It took a while—he was half distracted by, well, Nurse.

Nurse’s absence.  Nurse and his Juliet—Julius?  No that’s a different play and probably why they kept it—whatever.  They weren’t close, so why did he feel cast aside?  Ignore that.  They were friends, though, so why did he feel angry?  Well, not angry.  Jealous?  Yes—that must be it—he was jealous.  That Nursey could be out, open, accepted—gorgeous to all with eyes and able to pick up anyone he set his eyes upon.

As they played, what discussion there was between the three of them focused down to the game and the fight against the vengeful Baron.  Dex ignored some of the non-game chatter between Chowder and Farmer, which meant he misplayed more than he would have liked, but it spared him the coupley-ness.  Spared him the pain—the twinge, the pang (all these _Nursey_ words in his head, what the fuck)—of watching from the outside.

Nurse strode in, with neither knock nor warning, midway through the third round.

For a moment it was like someone had opened an airlock: Nursey’s eyes were shuttered like windows in a storm.  His face was so artfully blank that it flipped the bit, and his chill read instead as distress.  Dex was instantly on high alert.

‘Uh, hey.’

‘Nursey!  Hey!’  Chowder leapt up, heedless or apparently so, and hugged Nursey.

‘Sup, Derek—not still out with your Julius?’

‘…no.’

 ‘You okay, Nurse?’

Nursey paused.  Two beats passed.

‘Disappointed, I guess.  Fine, though.  Like, I get why Ransom picked him?  Because, he’s like—very _into poetry_ , which sounds like it should be ideal?  I think his taste for musicals could have skewed things if Holster was picking, because, well.  And on paper, I think he’d probably look pretty damn good?  But he tried to explain this poem that the SLAP printed to me and—’

Dex interrupted ‘—and it was the one you had gotten published last week about leaves and ice and shit?’

‘Uh, yeah.  You… read that?’

‘Yeah.  Should I not have?’

Nursey shrugged, pretending not to be tense.  ‘It’s published, so it’s public.  I’m just a bit surprised.  It’s chill.’

‘Of course it is.  If you don’t actually wanna talk about the date, then wanna join us as superheroes?’

Dex scooted over so there’d be room to flop down on if he wanted. Caitlin snagged a blanket off the bed and tossed it at Nurse as Dex unfolded the body pillow and set it out like a bench to share.  Nurse arranged the blanket across his shoulders and back so a corner of it could act like a hood, with a puff of his hair poking out from under it like it did the brim of his hats, then sat.

‘Yeah, Nursey—we taught Dex how to play Sentinels!’

‘Who do you want to be, Derek?’

‘Got any healers?’

‘Not really stand-alone, no.  Most people can do a little bit of incidental healing, but there’s very little heavy focus on it.’

‘Dr. Medico could—’

‘But he’s part of The Sentinels, Chris.’

‘Oh, right.  Tempest can, but he’s better as, like, AoE damage.  If you want that?’

‘Nah—what other support-y characters you got?’

Dex looked on in some shock at the exchange, wondering how Nursey had covered up such nerdery for so long.  Huh.  He really hoped his shock wasn’t visible from space—Nursey really didn’t seem to need that just at this precise instant.

After some further discussion, Nursey chose his character—Visionary, because a PoC psychic superhero, and what’s not to like there, apparently—and they kept playing.  Farmer ordered late-night pizza, and games shifted into movies—Dex, this time, demanded Disney, hoping to both please Nursey and forestall any chirping from him on the topic.

After the Little Mermaid was done, Farmer kicked the defensemen out.  Nurse was still a monument to self-containment, but at least he’d relaxed to normal levels of chill.  There was some green to his eyes—an aurora behind clouds.  They walked back toward Norris in relative silence.  Some couples were still out between events, or else wandering back to dorm rooms, mostly in pairs.

‘You good, Pointy?’

‘I’m—I’ll be fine.’

‘But you’re not fine now?’

‘Closer to it than earlier?’

‘Are we good?’  Nurse sounded tentative—trying to be brave—like he might not get the answer he wanted.

‘Yeah, dude.  This isn’t related to you.  Please ignore all emotional constipation in this general vicinity.’

‘At least you’re aware of it?’

‘Just.  So fucking much.  Yes.  And then I’m awkward and uptight about it.  I know.  It helps nothing and I can’t help it and it’s frustrating—which loops back on itself and—’

‘Dex.  Breathe.  Chowder will legit murder me if I’m involved in another panic attack.’

Dex focused on the repeated act of breathing.  Stepped off the cement path—tromping a bit through snow—and leaned cheek-first into a tree.  The bark was mostly smooth.  Cold.  Nurse hovered nearby, shifting back and forth on his feet from the sounds of snow compressing under them.

‘We’re friends, right, Nursey?’

‘Yeah, Dex.  That seems like a plausible description.  Do I need to worry about this line of questioning?’

‘No.  I—worry.  That—’ well, he’d opened his mouth.  Now what the fuck was gonna come pouring out.  Hopefully nothing catastrophic.  ‘That we aren’t.  That you think—I’m just this, like, dick or—’

‘Hey now.  S’okay.  Like, you _are_ a dick some of the time.  And you’re not,’ Nurse paused, as if looking for the right words, ‘perfect or even always all that good on a lot of issues you don’t understand.  But you have made it clear that you’ve got my back.  Which—let me start over.  We hang out a fair amount, although usually with Chowder, because he’s protective of both of us, even from each other.  And the arguing’s actually kinda, like, fun?  When we don’t explode at each other?  That and being teammates is sufficient for some definition of friends, but you seemed like you were asking after a closer status than that, so I jumped right in with the other shit aaaaaand now I’m rambling.  But yes.  We're friends, close ones on my end.  How are you?’

Dex had calmed down over the course of Nursey’s speech.  His cheek was cold, but the tree was solid and _there_.  His breathing was under control and his mind was no longer trying to race.  Just his pulse, residually.

‘I’m—alright, I think.  Thanks for not—’ _bailing on me just now_.  Shit.  ‘for letting me spaz.  Good to know that you like the arguing, at least sometimes.’  He offered up an attempt at a smile—the sort that tried to convey something when words failed (and it was obvious that his words had just now).

 _Please don’t inquire further or give me the opportunity to blurt out that I’m_ trying _to work on some of this shit that I’m bad at as if in an effort to get a fucking cookie or whatever Shitty’s phrase was.  Please let’s just get back to Norris and Olin and separate for the night and pretend that none of this is weird or worth further revisiting._

Nurse picked up on something, there, because he didn’t say anything more until they reached Dex’s turn off.  He just clapped Dex on the shoulder, said g’night, and headed on to his dorm.

Once in his room, Dex played the evening back in his head.  He’d nearly come out several times today.  That’d be a thing to see how he felt about it tomorrow.  He avoided trying to analyze whatever the hell was going on with Nursey, as it was probably safest to just assume it was a matter of the other’s being so comfortably out to the team and everyone.  As he willed himself to sleep, Dex considered whether Kells was right to tease him about the xkcd on doing math to hearts—maybe his normal approach _was_ useless here.

* * *

William was at his desk, playing League of Legends.  The desk was a bit small for him, but he was going to college soon—Samwell, because Mrs. Donovan’s librarian mafia had come through—so he hadn’t wanted to bother expanding it or building a new one (or bugging Dad to do the same).  His Sona got ganked, which afforded him a moment to look at his posters and start a first-cut list of which he’d take to Samwell in the fall.

He worked very hard to not worry.

Kelly had missed supper that night.  William had covered for her, asserting that she’d texted him that she was running late from rehearsal and he’d forgotten to mention.  That earned him some sharp words from Ma, but that was nothing particularly new.  He texted Kells her alibi under the table, and it was all going to be fine.

When Kelly knocked lightly on his bedroom door, everything was not fine.

It was well past curfew, although that was somewhat a formality these days.  She’d slipped in the back, and had probably parked up the street.  Kelly had taken a wet paper towel to her make-up, but there remained a few streaks of mascara on one freckled cheek.  She looked like she’d witnessed the end of the world.  William pulled her through the door when she hesitated and wrapped her up in a tight hug.

‘Do I have to dig a hole first?’

‘Not—it’s not something a murder will fix, William.  Just… yeah.  I may have some more rehearsals that go late for a while, and may be tired from them around the family.  Can you cover for me?’

William steered them to his bed, and sat Kelly down on it.  He went to close his door—made sure to engage the lock he’d a couple spent surreptitious hours building in.  Kelly looked nervous, there on his bed—she was watching him from the corner of her eye rather than her usual defiant tracking.

‘Can I cover for you.  What the hell question is that?  Of course I’ll cover for you.  What’s got you so worried, Kells?’

‘I…’  Kelly steeled herself, a surefire tell to anyone in the Poindexter family.  ‘I can’t tell you.  It’s a secret.’

‘Do you not trust me?  Are you in trouble?  Kells—tell me how to help.’

‘I just don’t want you to think less of me, William.’  She sounded so lost.

‘So back to the beginning then, with a twist.  Did _you_ kill someone?’

‘No.’

‘Did you scratch my AFP CDs?’

‘Nah—Amanda’s still in the stereo where I left her.’

‘Have you—fuck, I don’t know—decided that James is the best of your brothers?’

That would, naturally, be impossible, and the joke finally got her to crack the tiniest and most watery of smiles.

‘Well there.’

‘Then I’m out of reasons I might think less of you.  So what’s up?’

‘You know Lauren?’

‘Your best friend?  Know her at least a bit.’

‘She’s, um.  Not my best friend.  Anymore.  She bru-bro-broke up with me.’

‘Fuck, Kells.  That’s shitty of her—wait.  Best friends don’t break up.’

‘We weren’t just friends?’

‘I see.  So how can I help?  More than just covering for you?’

‘What—that’s all?’

‘I mean—what were you after?  You’re hurting, sister mine, and that’s more important than anything as stupid as who you’re dating.’  Will paused, considered.  If she could be brave, he could too: the stakes were already pretty low here.  ‘Plus.  I’m—’  Cough.  Breathe.  ‘I’m gay.’

Kelly inspected him after he said that—eyes to make sure he was serious (he was), chest to count his breaths (fast but controlled), hands to see if William had balled them into fists (he had).

‘We can’t tell James.’

‘Duh?  Or our parents.  We back each other up and help ease the pressure and conspire to get the hell out of here when we can.  And in the meantime, I am going to introduce you to the cathartic joys of clicky-death games.  How do you want to accomplish your pixelated murder spree?’

* * *

‘You’re old enough now, Derek, that you need to have a tux of your own.  Not for school, perhaps, but certainly for occasional use at home.’

‘The boy’s still growing.  We should wait another year, maybe.’

‘Ugh.  I’ll go to the damn party.’  Nurse rose to his father’s bait.  ‘It’ll be useful to you and will at least give me something to do over break.  One night, at least.’

‘We’ll make sure to set you up with some concert tickets.  Just, send Cathy a list and she’ll see to it.  And please don’t go too deep into your poetry at the party.  It’s a business function and that sort of thing reflects poorly on me.’

‘I know how to schmooze, Dad—and that I’m not there for my own entertainment.’

 

The party was at the start of spring break; Nurse had been dreading it since their discussion over ski week.  They all got ready separately; Mrs. Nurse’s only reaction when Nurse came downstairs from his room was to untie the bowtie he’d gone to YouTube to learn how to tie and do it back up for him, brushing off his lapel for good measure.  Only then did he apparently pass muster.  Mr. Nurse came downstairs last, already on his phone.

They sat quietly—a family separated by the mercy of handheld electronics—until the towncar came to pick them up.  The drive to the Met was silent—Nurse had no words of value here, and his father always clammed up in cars with strangers.  Nurse wasn’t sure if it was anxiety or some misplaced worry about the security of his business information.  Nurse’s mom, aware of Nurse’s thoughts on the party, gave him a tight smile and a squeeze of the hand.  It resulted in only the barest hint of movement from the elbow up.

The party was as over the top as Nurse had expected it to be: the museum was seventeen sorts of decked out—damask (fake, let’s be real—have to keep that shit washable) tablecloths littered with platters of fruit and cheese and the occasional crepe-paper centerpiece rendered classy by its cost.  Staff milled unobtrusively through the crowds with trays of passed hors d’oeuvres—little shrimpy things in tiny martini glasses, the smallest of quiches (Lorraine and veggie), bite-size racks of lamb (lambsicles, his mother called them).  A string quartet in a corner was playing background-style classical at a low volume.  All in all, a bunch of very rich, almost entirely white business-and-society types all in a room together to eat tiny foods and talk about how great they all were.  Nurse was the youngest person there by easily a decade, so far as he could see.

Nurse’s parents deserted him once they had all been introduced to the hosts.

The venue, despite its contents and occupants, was pretty dope: all the galleries were open for browsing, and the rotating exhibit was about Escher’s trips to Italy and Spain and how they shifted his focus from landscapes to tessellations and geometries.  That exhibit alone killed half an hour with minimal interaction.  When he stepped back into the main hall, though, his father caught his eye from fifteen feet away and made a meaningful glance toward the schmoozing masses.  Knowing his lack of options, Nurse nodded.  Appeased, Mr. Nurse nodded back.

Nurse put on his most interested and polite-young-man face and sidled up to the nearest table at which he recognized someone relevant to his father.  Two middle-aged women and an older man—all white—were chatting about the quality of the food.  Nurse had, a year or so prior, been introduced to the blond woman (Debra?) at a dinner his father had hosted while he’d been on break.

‘Derek!  I thought I’d seen you hovering in the wings.  How are you?  Are you home on break?’  Debra(?) greeted him with a warm smile and a hand on his shoulder.

‘Doing well, thanks, and yeah—spring break’s this week.  Figured I should come socialize some, since my father brought me to this party—did you have a chance to look at the exhibits?’

‘No, not yet—I’d planned to look at the Escher one after getting a bit more food.  Do you know these two lovely people?  No?  Well.  Derek Nurse, please meet my friends Arthur and Jane Potère—Jane is in marketing at Arthur’s publishing house.’

Nurse took each hand as it was offered, shook it with the appropriate firmness.  Arthur’s handshake was firm to the point of challenge; Jane’s was noodly.  Nurse kept his smile plastered to his face.

‘Publishing?  What sort?’

‘Oh—a variety of things.  I’m mostly associated with the business publications.’  Which explains his importance to Nurse’s father.  ‘You’re on break from… college?’

A flattering assumption.

‘Senior year at Andover.’

‘Excellent, excellent.  Jane went to Exeter,’ he said—as if his wife(?) weren’t there beside him, smiling as if this were the usual course of conversation.

‘Ah, well.  Hopefully you can forgive my being on the opposing side of the rivalry.’

‘I’m far enough out of it that it’s just nice to meet someone else who knows how things went.  What are you studying?  Have you heard back from colleges?’

‘This term, I’m taking AP Lit, AP French, AP Chem, this awesome ancient history class centered on East and Southeast Asia, and Latin II.  I got into Samwell on early admissions—was the first kid in my class to hear back.’

‘Congratulations!  That’s quite the course load you have there.’

The conversation droned on from there—bouncing between, on the one hand, Derek’s schooling and hockey and, perhaps for a comment or two at a time, poetry and, on the other hand, his conversation partners’ work and connection to his father.  With occasional discussion of food or theater or Escher besides.

After his fourth conversation like that—warmly disinterested strangers who nevertheless cared enough about him (or the conversation—it didn’t really matter) to extract a month’s equivalent of the information he shared with his family—Nurse was done.  He’d gotten enough food, wasn’t allowed to drink, and felt he’d contributed enough to his father’s ambitions for the evening.  So, with one last snatched-up lambsicle, he left through a side door off the lobby.

When he got to the 86th Street station, Nurse texted his father before he headed belowground, fully aware that his phone’s ringer was off.  He knew they’d yell, but it’d be worse if he didn’t tell them.  The train arrived, and he undid his bowtie, as if that were a final demonstration of the doneness of the evening.  A pointless gesture, to be sure, since his parents would inevitably return home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the other major canon discontinuity, which kinda backs everything up in spring term, since Lardo's show was theroretically in February, suggesting that the playoffs comics glossed over a _lot_ of time. This does, at least, close that gap some, even if it necessitates some stitching together of formerly unrelated events.


	6. Chapter 6

Nursey was rushing between classes—he had ten minutes to get from his intro to music theory across a quad and a half to get to Chinese.  He was focused on getting from Point A to Point B, and thus was not paying much attention to his surroundings.  Therefore, he totally did not jump when he noticed—a good fifteen seconds too late—that Pointy had fallen in beside him.

He didn’t.

He was mumbling poetry to himself—lines that had come to him as he was packing his shit up.  Normally he’d just write them on his arm, but he was almost certain that there’d be a quiz, and Laoshi Zhang _did not care, Derek, if that’s poetry on your arm, no notes means no notes_.  So he was mumbling it to himself in a probably vain attempt to commit it to memory.

‘No ancient mariner I, though you could be my albatross—not that I would shoot you down (or even speak to risk the loss).  No ancient mariner I, though you could be my albatross—not that I would shoot you down (or even speak to risk the loss).  No ancient mariner I, though you could be my albatross—not that I would shoot you down (or even speak to risk the loss).  No ancient mariner I, though you—’

He’d just left the building when Dex spoke.

‘Coleridge-derived love poetry, Nurse?  I thought you didn’t like reading dead white dudes?  Also, that one’s all awkwardly religious and shit.’

Really.  He swears.  There was no jumping or tripping or stumbling whatsoever.

‘To the exclusion of all of the other available poets of worth, sure.  They make good reference points, though—especially for teachers who want to see that shit.  Also, I’m both surprised and impressed you caught that from listening to me mumble.’

‘To be fair, I was pretty close.  And you were repeating it for, like, a minute.’

‘We’re not even a minute out from my music theory class—and what brought you there, anyway?  You don’t suddenly have a music class, do you?’

‘No, I, uh.  Was waiting for you.  Cuz I knew you had class here.’

‘Huh.  Okay.  Good, Pointy.  Way to be mysterious there.’

‘I—wait.  Have you seen Bitty’s text?’

‘Nnnnnope.  Class.  Phone on silent.’

They left the concrete and tromped carefully across a quad on a student-trodden path one and a half steps wise.  Dex kept a hand on Nursey’s shoulder, as if to brace him against the inevitable fall, trip, or slippage.  It was as aggravating a gesture as it was a kind one (how very Dexly).

‘Well, have a look, then.’

Nursey pulled up the group chat.

 **Mom:** Now, I know [eye emoji blink emoji eye emoji] I don’t have to remind y’all, but we are expected to clean up nice for Lardo’s show tonight.  
**Grins:** Or, at least, don’t fucking wear sweats, Holster.  
**Justin Birkholtz:** I would never!  
**Adam Oluransi:** You were talking about which tie paired best with your grey ones, dude.  
**Justin Birkholtz:** Bro.  That was a bus you just threw me under.  
**Adam Oluransi:** Needed to happen, Holtzy.  
**Justin Birkholtz:** Like you have legs to stand on, my dear Ransom.  Those fucking salmon shorts are hideous and you know it.  
**Adam Oluransi:** I know no such thing, because they’re sw’awesome and look magnificent on me.  You’re just jealous that they’d blend in with you while sunburnt.  
**Grins:** You are 1000% wrong on this one, Holster.  And take it to side channels if you wanna rehash that one.  
**Mom:** Dress requirement stands for you Frogs, too.  
**Shits:** Larrrrrrrds—why you gotta force me into clothes like that, bro?  
**Dad:** Consider it practice for law school, Shits.  Still not heard back yet?  
**Shits:** Nah, man.  Not yet.  A bunch of schools drop their acceptance letters all at the same time, or else do rolling admissions starting on a given day.

The conversation flowed from there to the intricacies of law school admissions and how Shitty was going to have to learn to be a real human being somewhere in there.  Nurse ignored the sudden twist in his stomach and looked up at Dex.

‘Doesn’t answer my question.’

‘Did you ever get my tie washed like you promised?  I kinda need it if I’m gonna pass Bitty’s muster tonight.’

‘Awwwww, fuck.  No.  It’s chill, though—I swear.  I can loan you one of mine.  I’ll let you pick it out tonight, if that works?’ 

Dex gritted his teeth at “chill,” as if on command (as if by Pavlov), but said nothing.  He nodded in response to Nursey’s offer.  They kept walking; Nursey definitely wasn’t wondering what else Dex had to say, if that wasn’t the whole of it.  There were still the remnants of last week’s weirdness between them, and he didn’t know what to make of it.  So, mostly, he didn’t—if the white boy wanted to be weird, then bully for him.

There were so many things—well, feelings—to ignore in the run-up to midterms.

When Dex didn’t split off once they got to Leighton, Nursey had to ask: ‘You following me, Dexy?’

‘Ummmm no?  I have Spanish now.’

‘…oh.  Sorry, bro.  Didn’t realize.  Where d’you normally come from?’

‘Varies.  Norris or Founder’s, usually—a dining hall if I’m hungry at off hours.’

‘Gotcha.’  He really needed to put in a bit more mental effort to not say chill to Poindexter.  That was hard.  ‘Well.  I’ve gotta go see if there’s actually a quiz in Chinese, or if I can finally write down that line from earlier.’

‘Check your phone.’  As Dex said that, Nursey’s phone buzzed.

 **Snap:** No ancient mariner I, though you could be my albatross, not that I would shoot you down or even speak to risk the loss.  (sorry if I fucked up your intended punctuation).

‘Thanks, Dexy!’

‘Good luck on your quiz, if you have one.  See you later.’

‘Yeah, come by my room after classes and we’ll figure you out a tie.’

 

Nursey was working on a paper for his poetry class when Dex thumped on the door.  He answered it, muttering about transience and art and fucking _Ozymandias-comma-king-of-kings_.  Dex’s face went through a complicated series of expressions before settling on confusion.

‘You, uh, okay there Nursey?’

‘Yeah, it’s, uh—it’s this paper I’m writing.  C’mon in.’

Dex walked into the room in his game-day suit—no tie, and his white button-down open at the throat.  It was an oddly vulnerable look on him, and made Nursey think back to his mom’s analysis of the costuming choices in the revival of Sweeney Todd they’d seen (open throated outfits as a metaphor for naïveté, covered throats as code for jadedness).

‘What’s it about?’

‘We had to take a set of poems from different poets and draw a theme out of them and convince the prof that it’s a legit interpretation of them as a set.’

‘That sounds… kinda awful, not gonna lie.’

‘And this, Dex, is why you are a programmer.’

Dex shrugged, like he couldn’t properly dispute the point, took a seat in the armchair Nursey had taken with him from Andover.  It was only just past the point where it smelled more of febreze than of the storage unit it had spent summers in.  Nursey didn’t ask why Dex was in his room so early—he knew it’d be taken as a suggestion that he shouldn’t be there, and shit would inevitably escalate.

‘Did you end up having a quiz?’

‘Yeah, so thanks for texting me that line.’

‘Know what you’ll do with it?’

‘Nah.  Let it kick around in my brain or in a notebook for a while. Maybe something will come of it.  Otherwise, it’s just a really good orphaned line.’

‘Hunh.’

Dex made as if to pull a book down off one of Nursey’s shelves, hand stopping just before it made contact.  He looked over at Nursey, quirked an eyebrow in an implicit question.

‘I… didn’t bring any work with me, and I just realized how much time there was before Lardo’s show.  Sorry to, like, barge in when you’re working and shit.’

He looked weirdly… guilty?  Like he was impinging or something.  Enough of that.

‘Dex.  It’s fine.  I’m not as territorial as you seem to think I am?  Also, we’re friends.  This was conclusively and explicitly established.  If you wanna borrow one of those, feel free.’

‘Thanks, Nursey.’

Nursey turned back to his paper, shifting from Ozymandias to Neruda’s sonnet 89.  Dex had picked a book off the poetry shelf—surprising enough that Nursey didn’t scrutinize it further—and settled back into the chair.  They stayed like that for a silent, comfortable half-hour, before someone pounded on Nursey’s door.

‘Chowder?’

‘Probably.’

Nursey opened the door to see the goalie looking distraught, in a t-shirt, slacks, and Sharks hoodie.

‘Guys!  I need help!  I was having dinner with Farmer before her volleyball thing tonight, and I spilled coke down my suit front and it got all over everything and now Bitty’s gonna murder me because I won’t be dressed up to his standards and ohmygosh—’

‘Chowder.  Breathe.  As we all know, hyperventilating is bad.  Clothing aside, are you alright?’

‘Yeah!’

‘Okay, good.  Clothing is a solvable problem.’

‘I dunno if we have shirts, Dex, that would fit him right—he’s got narrower shoulders than we do.’

‘What’ll we do?’

‘First, keep breathing.  Second, you’re Bitty’s favorite, so you can get away with less formality than we can.  I was planning on just going in a button-down and a sweater.  We’ll figure you out a coat.’

‘He’s already spilled on one tonight, so odds aren’t as good he’d ruin a second one.’

‘Thanks for that dim vote of confidence, Dex.’

‘Sure thing, Chowder.’

Once he’d set down his bag, Chowder pulled a blanket off Nursey’s bed and draped it over a pile of clothes—clean ones—before flopping down on the impromptu seat.  He pulled out his laptop and started typing away at something.

‘Do either of you know if there’ll be food at this thing?’

‘No idea.  My guess is no, since it’s an art thing?  But there’s almost certainly gonna be booze.’

Nursey opened the snack drawer in his desk and lobbed a couple protein bars at Dex and Chowder.  Dex caught his, while Chowder’s landed on his keyboard.

‘Hey!  My ninja was just about to clear that level.’

‘Working hardly, eh?’

‘That’s a shot.’  Nursey started rummaging through his closet.

‘Borderline case, Dex.’

‘Count it as half.’

‘Bah.  I suppose.’

Chowder looked between them, clearly gauging whether he needed to intervene.  Dex shrugged at him—no brewing fight here.  Stand down, goalie.  Nursey, moving from his plaids to actual dress shirts, didn’t notice.

‘Oh—Dexy.  A tie.  I don’t have any blue ones to complement your hair.  Stripes?  Paisley?’

‘Uh… no?  Anything solid?’

‘Red power tie it is.  It’ll be your badge of Republicananity for the night.’

Dex made a rude face at Chowder— _this is me, not starting shit, Chow_ —and still managed to catch the tie.  Or, at least, one end of it.  He took off his suit coat and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt just as Nursey turned around, apparently empty-handed as to clothing solutions for Chowder.

‘Rawr, Dexy.  But I think you’re missing your target audience, bro.’  Without pause, he turned his attention to Chowder.  ‘Sorry to say, but I don’t think any of my shirts will fit you right—shoulders.  You know your shirt size?’

‘Uhm.  Like, medium?  Large sometimes?  Depends kinda on how the company sizes shirts.’

‘Ehhhhhh.  Either way, my shirts are gonna be like sails on you, bro.  I’m a 17-37.  Got an idea, though.  You steal Dex’s jacket, if he’s willing.  He’ll have a tie, you’ll have a coat, and I’ll have the sweater so we’ll all be about the same level of formality.’

Dex fitted the tie under his collar and, without consulting a mirror, tied a pretty decent full Windsor.  Nursey did not know what to do with this new information about Dex’s abilities with ties. 

‘That—actually sounds like a good plan, Nurse.  As long as he doesn’t swim in my coat.  Also, please don’t spill on it, Chowder—I have enough problems with Nurse.’

‘I will drink only water at this thing to make sure that if I spill anything it will dry without any problems.  Oh!  And I can wear my hoodie under it.  Solves the shirt problem AND will help the coat fit.’

‘And of the Frogs, only you could pull it off and escape Bitty’s side-eye.  So let’s do that and see the reactions.’

Once they had clothes sorted out, Dex pointed out the time—and they were off to the Haus at a brisk walk.  Bitty, in his twee bow tie, eyed the Frogs up and down and with an exasperated sigh.  Most everyone else was in full-on suits, so he (correctly) thought they were letting the side down or something.  Those who hadn’t already eaten by the time they got suited up—Nursey, Dex, and Holster—had a light dinner of bagel bites and leftover blueberry pie.

The Samwell Men’s Hockey Team set off for Kotter.  Only Shitty had seen the bulk of Lardo’s work—Dex had hauled paint at one point, Nursey thought?—so there was rampant speculation as to what sort of work it would be.  They knew it was mixed media, including paintings, and focused on subversions of ‘traditional masculinity.’

Nursey walked alongside Shitty on the way over—to the degree that anyone in the group was walking with anyone in particular.  They were a roving band of jocks in suits.  Shitty was holding forth on his understanding of Lardo’s themes—his self-aware projection of _wokeness_ doing at least as much work as the words he was spouting.  Nursey nodded and smirked along with him, laughing at Shitty as much as with him.

‘…and it wasn’t until about the fourth jockstrap that I realized that Lardo was trying to emphasize both the instrumental value as art and the cups’ inherent value.’

‘So what I’m hearing, Shitty, is that your interpretation of this deconstruction of masculinity doesn’t actually deconstruct it but just takes its symbols and augments and undermines them?’

‘Uh, yeah.  Basically.’

‘How much of your explanation is directly lifted from what Lardo gave you?’

‘Like, ninety percent of it, bro.’

‘Once we’re there, maybe remember to refer people to the artist’s statement.’

‘Of course, Nursey, what do you take me for?’

‘I mean, you’re usually the first person to make White Knight jokes about yourself.’

‘It’s an accurate descriptor in a very literal sense, brah.’

‘More often than you realize, Shitty.’  Nursey smirked.

Nursey held the door for Shitty once they got to the art building.  The main gallery was bedecked with art for the show, in clashing and wildly varied styles.  Oil paintings of small animals in urban settings faded into comic-style pencils from a story set in a cyberpunk future along one wall.  Another was lined with wire-sculpted hands and faces over which had been applied already-painted canvas that made it look like something was trying to escape.  There was a neatly deconstructed desk and desk chair, all of its parts labeled as one might a butterfly collection, in a roped-off square of floor. Lardo had a painting and two collections of bejeweled jocks on little stands.

The full back corner of the hall—rapidly filling with formally-dressed college students and assorted professors—was taken up by an open bar.

After everyone congratulated Lardo—resplendent and artsy in her short cocktail dress and opera-length bead necklace—the team dispersed through the hall.  Nurse lost Shitty as Ransom dragged him off to the bar.  He took a moment to feel isolated in the crowd before he caught sight of Dex and Chowder.  He sidled up to the other Frogs just as Dex was deadpan, I-am-not-shocked-just-kinda-disappointed-really describing a highly abstracted (presumptively female) nude with ‘so those are boobs.’ 

Nursey chirped Chowder about Farmer.  It was neither his finest nor subtlest of chirps, nor really the best targeted, but it served to include him in the group.  He didn’t have too long to consider what that was all about, though, before Shitty started a commotion over with Jack, Bitty, and Lardo by her jock installation some five feet away.  He was giving her a noogie—the threatened punishment for too many uses of the ‘g word’ (unclear whether the operative word was gone or graduate)—so she started shouting about her precious art cred.  They separated, a bit awkwardly, and Lardo was pestering Shitty about his phone.

‘Yo, Shits, you okay, man?’

Shitty was staring at his phone.  Lardo was staring at Shitty while putting her hair back into place.  Dex and Chowder were giggling at rhinestoned jocks.  He nudged Chowder—this was probably about to be a thing, if Shitty was ignoring Lardo at her show for his phone.

‘Um.’

‘What is it?’

‘I…’ he didn’t sound like he believed whatever he was seeing.  ‘got into Harvard.’

There was a beat of stunned silence, during which the Samwell Men’s Hockey team was no louder than the remainder of the art show.  Shitty looked shellshocked.  Lardo’s eyebrows were nearly in her hair.

The moment didn’t so much pass as transition: the entire team impacted Shitty in a congratulatory pile.  Nursey—in the middle of things, with his face smooshed up against Jack as they both tried to get their arms around Shitty—was sure there were other attempts at hugs in there (did Chowder jump onto them?  Someone sure as fuck landed on his back), but the general effect was probably more like a mass of hockey boys. 

In the commotion of it all, a silence settled on Nursey, like he was hearing it all happen from a distance—from underwater.  It was like he was back at Andover, when he lost Shitty the first time and it had felt like the world was ending.  That the world continued on, then as now, made it worse rather than better.

Ah.  Yes.  _There_ was that feeling he’d been trying to avoid.

Shitty, naturally, basked in the attention, even once the team was asked to kindly quiet down or else get the fuck out.  They tried the former option, but—especially given Holster’s enthusiasm for the open bar—ended up having the latter chosen for them.  Nursey didn’t really notice when they were waylaid on the way out by some folks from the Daily seeking reviews of the show.

They were nearly back to the Haus by the time the rest of the team noticed that Bitty and Lardo weren’t with them.

Bitty reappeared after half an hour or so, during which time at least one (hard to say which of them picked it up first, because they’d have immediately alerted the other) of Dex and Chowder noticed that his chill was up so high that it was a wall instead of mere armor.  Bitty’s smile was falsely bright and he lied about not noticing that the team had left with such sweet facility that no one could bring themselves to call bullshit.  At least, that’s how Nursey read things, aware he was in what Dex would call a Mood.

It should feel awesome—he should be proud of Shitty.  The mood should feel congratulatory.  Instead of congratulatory, though, it felt like celebrating an apocalypse—misplaced and in terrible taste.  Still, there was pie and gushing revelry and booze.

Nursey made close friends with a solo cup and the tub juice.

 

His skull was too small for its contents, which throbbed at the constriction.  Even while thinking through jello, words were there for him.  That got a laugh.  That caused regrets.  At least his mouth only tasted like dried out and nasty rather than like hours-old puke.  Small victories.

Nursey groaned as he rolled over.  There was a water bottle—full—on his bedside table, with a post-it note on it.

_Aspirin, too, dumbass, if you only pretend to not get hangovers.  If you’re not at team breakfast, I’ll come make sure you’re alive.  Promise and threat._

Oh, Dex.  So aggressive in his caring.  Nursey thought about it, and realized he had _no idea_ how he got home.  Or when.  Or how he ended up in pajama pants and a t-shirt.  Nope.  Not considering aaaaaaaaany of that.  Shower time.  Today seemed like a day he deserved a hangover, even if he didn’t really _want_ one.

Nursey’s walking back to his room, towel-clad, in shower shoes, and carrying his caddy when Dex steps out of the stairwell.  His hair was still wet, a dull copper instead of the normal new-penny hue.  Nursey nodded at him, and didn’t lock the door behind himself.

He was in his boxer-briefs and had a shirt half-on when Dex knocked.

‘S’open.’

Dex came in, glanced at Nursey, sat down at his desk.  Looked out the window down the hill toward the train tracks.

‘You’re alive.’

‘Enough of me got scraped up to put back together.  Time to enforce your threat?’

Nursey finished dressing.

‘And the promise, too.  How much did you fucking _drink_ , dude?  I lost track of you for, like, ten minutes and you were **schwasted**.  You got drunk enough that you flipped the bit and went from a walking disaster to christly _helpful_.’

Which.  What?  Dex must have seen the look Nursey gave him, because he was suddenly blushing cherry-dark and gaping.

‘I helped you get your shoes off and suggested that you might want to sleep in something _not_ the clothes you got—apparently blackout—drunk in.  You directed me to the right drawer and got right to changing even before I tossed you pajamas.  Kept up a steady stream of slurred dialogue about how excited you were to go to sleep and be done with this fucking night.  You were passed out before I lined up the ibuprofen.’

‘Got you outta here faster, though, yeah?  How was team breakfast?’

‘Kinda tense.  You and Lardo were both missing.  Bitty gave Shitty a dressing-down over it.  Told him that, _woke as he was_ , he should be able to work out for his own self what he’d done wrong.  It got worse when Rans snarfed coffee at that.  I got Bitty to hold you some pancakes and sausage.  He made no promises about the coffee cake.’

‘I will only say this once, Dex, but you are often an entirely bearable human being.’

‘Noted.  I wouldn’t expect you to want to say that more than once.  Do us all a favor though?  Go find Lardo, like once you’ve assuaged Bitty and eaten his food?  I know you have ways to get through to her.  I’m—I’m not the one who should be doing this.  Probably even less suited than Holster would be.  You’ve got the finesse, though, and like—the art perspective that Chowder lacks?’

‘Yeah, bro.  I’ll hit her up after I get what remains of Bitty’s brunch.  I’ll see if I can get her to start planning her and Ransom’s joint birthday party.  Three weeks isn’t too much time for them to start planning.’

‘True, particularly the way Ransom plans.  Also,’ he hesitated, before speaking again—quickly and harsh ‘I swear to god if you chirp me for this I will abandon you the next time I have Nursey Patrol, bro.  But… if she seems like she could use it and wouldn’t object, give her a hug for me?’

* * *

Life looks different upon a roof  
The world all spread out down below  
The stars above still hang, aloof  
But light the ways that you could go

The urge and the act must differ  
The jump’s not the same as the fall  
Neither’s for me, so I’ll defer  
From taking my chances at all

The height, the depth, and the distance—  
All serve to increase attraction  
Attainment demands persistence  
(And ways to dodge the infraction)

Though it’s an excellent backdrop  
No matter how highly you rank  
It, the remove of a rooftop  
Requires that you bring a blanket

Nurse finished reading, and there were snaps and some light applause.  He wasn’t sure whether bowing was appropriate—it was actually a sizeable audience, since all hundred or so kids getting published had been bused in by their respective schools—so he offered a terse nod and made his way quietly back to his seat next to Campbell.

The Young Poets’ Festival was being held this year at St. Mark’s, in an extremely nice—new just a few years earlier—theater.  It seemed unnecessary, somehow, to Nurse: there was seating capacity that well exceeded the school’s population.  Any show put on here, unless opened to the public, would seem ill-attended.  It might be useful for graduation ceremonies, maybe—students and families and all that.

The acoustics, though, were undeniably fantastic.

It also allowed the various attending schools to segregate themselves a bit.  He and Campbell had taken up a pair of seats to one side of the center aisle, about two-thirds of the way back.  The acoustics were such that the provided mics were an unnecessary formality.  He ran his fingers over the fabric of the seats, feeling the texture beneath his fingers, in an effort to quiet his post hoc jitters and focus on the other poets.

A kid from Groton tapped the mic none too gently, snapping everyone’s attention to the stage—even those who’d mentally wandered as far as Nursey. 

‘Although it’s not a part of the poem that I’m going to read, I wanted to share with you all for a moment, my older brother’s favorite three-word haiku.  Yes, favorite means he knows more than one such.  For context, he’s a physics major.  Hippopotamus/ antihippopotamus/ annihilation.’

Regrettably, the dude’s poem was not nearly so good as the haiku.  In fact, a lot of the poetry was dreadful, or else mediocre at best.  It was heartfelt, most of it—lots of sonnets and nearly-slam pieces—but the meter was off or there was one really bad rhyme in a poem that relied on a scheme or… well.  Nurse knew he was being a bit of a snob about the whole thing, even if it was just in his head, and he felt kinda bad for it.  Many of the assembled Young Poets likely hadn’t been working with words as long as he had, or with as much direction.

There were a few concluding remarks after the last poet read, and an invitation to lunch.  Campbell looked to Nurse, who shrugged.  They each picked up one of the paperbound anthologies on the way out. 

Campbell started his analysis of Nurse’s poem on the way back to the car.  Nurse’s phone, on silent, had been buzzing in his pocket for some time.

‘Good broken rhyme in that last stanza, Nurse.  You had an extra syllable in the last line, though.’

‘Thanks, Campbell.  The syllable was intentional, though.  If I’d wanted only eight syllables there, I’d have dropped the “that.”  It emphasizes the addition of the blanket.’

‘Or the someone who brought you it.’

‘…Or that, yes.’

‘How _is_ B.?’

It took Nurse a moment to parse what Campbell had said—to remember that Shitty wasn’t Shitty to everyone.  ‘He’s good.  Liking Samwell.  Skating with Jack Zimmermann.  We keep in pretty good contact.’

‘That’s good to hear.  Lowers the risk of your second stanza.’

Nurse made vague agreeing noises as he checked his notifications.

 **Beeeeeeeeeeeeker:** Hey—you’re at your poetry festival thing, right?  
**Beeeeeeeeeeeeker:** Cuz you just got mentioned in school meeting and invited forward to accept congratulations for being invited to the poetry thing that I’m really hoping you’re at?  
**Beeeeeeeeeeeeker:** Conti totally called you out in absentia for not showing and disrespecting the award and so on.  I, uh, sassed him back on your behalf.  
**Beeeeeeeeeeeeker:** So you’d better fucking be at that thing.  
**Me:** Yeah, dude, I was there.  Campbell and I are on our way back now.  Skipped out on lunch.  No parents there, so they weren’t gonna break out anything better than Paresky.  
**Me:** Thanks, also, for like defending my honor.  Mad chill of you, bro.

 **Nemo’s Keeper:** Dude, Conti’s a dick.  
**Nemo’s Keeper:** Your hockey bro shouted him down, though.  Was hilarious—he looked to Dezzie for confirmation and she said that Campbell had driven you.  
**Nemo’s Keeper:** Wonder whose idea it was to honor you during precisely the time when you wouldn’t be there.  
**Me:** How’d Conti react to Dezzie?

‘Apparently no one informed Mr. Conti that today was the day of the poetry thing.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah.  Seems he announced that I was doing this at school meeting, called me forward, and was then put out when I didn’t appear.  Beeker shouted out my whereabouts, and Ms. Desmond confirmed it.’

 **Nemo’s Keeper:** He apologized—to the still-not-there you—and said he was “glad to know you were where you were supposed to be.”  
**Me:** how charming.

* * *

‘So you count around with the magic number, like we talked about, ‘Leen, with the spiral and the line?’  Kelly was instructing her younger sister with disproportionate seriousness on the fine art of telling the future with pencil, paper, and counting skills.

‘Uh-huh…’

‘And you cross off the one you land on, like that, yeah.  So you won’t marry Oscar the Grouch.’

‘Good.  He’s a meanie-head.’

Billy snorted.  His kid sister wasn’t wrong.

‘And how’s yours going, Billy?  Living in a shack?’

‘No, Kelly.  An apartment.  And married to Betty O’Donnell.  I don’t _like_ her.’

‘That’s the risk, my darling brother.  The magic in your number isn’t in your favor.  But at least it looks like you’ll live a long time.  85 is practically forever.  Mimsi’s not even that old.’

‘She’s four years off from it.  Why’re you making me play this with you, Kelly?’

‘Cuz it’s my turn to pick.  And cuz Siobhan wanted us doing something quiet while she makes everyone’s fish sticks.  And cuz Eileen wanted to—they just started playing MASH at school, and… well.’

Eileen snuggled in close to Billy on the couch, her legs short enough that they extended over the side without even dangling.  She pointed at her sheet, covered with Kelly’s big, block printing, and pointed at a word.

‘What’s that say, Biwwy?’

‘It says, my darling Eileen, that you’re going to be a princess for your job.  That’s exciting, right?’

‘Yeah!  Means I can braid your hair after dinner, k?  Gotta get in pwactice!’

Billy sighed.  He’d known this was coming—alone with his sisters while his parents were out to dinner.  Siobhan was in charge, but mostly interested in everyone being peaceful enough that she could spend the evening on the phone while he was left with Eileen and with Kelly.

Eileen had discovered that make-up was a thing. Billy was her favorite manikin.

‘Sure, ‘Leen.  You and Kells can braid my hair again—just remember that it hurts when it’s pulled.  And maybe try washable markers for my nails instead of nail polish?  Last time James and Ryan got into that big nasty fight when they got home.’

As he’d talked to Eileen, Kelly had been filling out Billy’s game of MASH for him.

‘Okay, Billy, say stop when you want.’

‘Ugh.  Okay.’  He waited until the spiral was almost interfering with the chart before he finally told her to stop.

‘Ugh.  Your magic number is… 24.  Why did you make me wait so long?’

‘Because you made me play this game to begin with, Kells.  And you know if you leave me to count it out, I’ll just circle random things that make a good story.’

‘Damn you, Billy.’

‘Swear jar.  Also, you shoulda figured that one out before you set this on me.  Again.’

‘Just cuz you aren’t interested in girls yet, Billy…’

‘Girls are gross.’

‘Like boys are any less gross.  It just happens that girls also think boys are cute.’

Billy didn’t voice his first thought—that boys weren’t gross—because he couldn’t think how to word it in a way that might explain it right.

Siobhan returned from the kitchen, having arrayed fish sticks and wedge fries on a baking sheet and put them into the oven.  She sat in Ma’s chair, which was definitely the comfiest in the living room—none of the rest of them had the temerity to do so.

‘Supper’s in the oven.  We’ve got fifteen minutes until it’s ready to eat.  How’s Billy’s story coming along, Kells?’

‘Good.  Little punk waited long enough that his number’s 24.  Almost done crossing things out.  So far he’s living alone in a mansion, but is still gonna somehow be driving dad’s old truck.  Only crossed out buggin’ for work, so he’s got his wish of anything-but-lobster.’

‘Shovann—can I start braiding Biwwy’s hair?’

‘If Billy’s okay with it, ‘Leen, then sure.  But no make-up this time.  Don’t wanna have our brothers fighting again, k?’

Billy scooted forward off the couch and pulled Eileen forward—gently—by the legs so that she was close up against his back and could reach his hair.  Kelly reached over and ran a hand through it, ruffling his hair.  Billy unselfconsciously leaned into her touch.

‘Your hair’s getting long again, kiddo.  Should let Ma cut it soon.’

‘Not for a bit yet.  She always cuts it too short.’

‘It’s getting curly, though.’

‘Is that bad?  If it’s short, Eileen can’t braid it.’

As he said that—like he’d reminded her what she was all scooched up behind him to do—‘Leen grabbed a fistful of his hair, tugging gently so he leaned his head back.  He smiled up at her, and she grinned down, somewhere between mania and purposeful glee.

‘This will only hurt a moment,’ Siobhan muttered from across the coffee table, smirking.

‘You want me to help, ‘Leen?  I can show you how to give him French braids.’

‘Yah!’

‘They won’t stay, Kells.  I don’t have enough hair for that.’

‘I know.  But I can show her how, and she can practice, and then at worst you end up with a bunch of teeny-tiny braids.  So there’s no great harm beyond letting your sisters play with your hair, which you clearly hate the most.’

‘And which I had so much choice about.’

‘You’re a good sport, Billy,’ Siobhan said as the oven timer beeped.  ‘I’ll go get plates, since everyone else here seems busy.  You’re gonna have to finish up with Billy’s hair before you eat, ‘Leen, but after dinner we’ll have him do your nails up in pretty marker, k?’

‘Yay!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This should be the last chapter of Backwards & Forwards temporally displaced from canon due to my decisions for what to include in Past & Present Tension (there will be a Hausgiving chapter in Syn/Ack, but that's just gonna kinda mash the two years of it together, maybe? I dunno--it's still in outline form, at best). Spring C will be in mid-April because holding an outdoor concert in MA is impracticable before then, especially given the weather of the actual year in question.
> 
> Also, unrelated to the above, does anyone have a source for the Tadpoles' or Foxtrot's birthdays? Not relevant yet, clearly, but it could prove to be useful.


	7. Chapter 7

Chowder, like he had been all week, was making worry-eyes at his friends.  Nursey was being weird, true, but Dex had chalked that up to post-midterm tension and the accumulated stress of classes and the playoffs.  Dex was slow off the rink, letting the rest of the team filter into the dressing room and the showers ahead of him.  The goalie was talking with Nursey across the space between their stalls, but Chowder speared Dex with a look (extra sad puppy, bordering on kicked) when he walked in.

Dex shrugged, not quite a denial, not quite a dismissal.  He didn’t like blowing Chowder off, but this wasn’t something sunshine could fix.  It had been _a week_ , and it was only Thursday.  Wait—no.  It was Friday, after all.  He walked into the showers, still thinking.  Jack passed him on his way out, towel-clad, with a gruff nod.  He turned the shower on, still hot from whoever had used it last, and relaxed under the spray.

He needed to relax.  He needed to just accept that finals-time was stressy as fuck for everyone and live with it.  Even if it wasn’t formally finals season for another week or two.  There were playoffs to worry about first.  And that one late midterm he had.  And Bitty’s disappointment at Betsy’s impending demise.  And Nursey’s glacial chill this past week.  And how he kept almost coming out to people here.  He had to worry about that.  He had to _go back to reflexively avoiding coming out, like, ever_.

He finished showering and walked out into the hopefully empty locker room.

Dex noticed Jack loitering near the entrance to the locker room only once he was dressed.  Huh.  He nodded as he walked out, and Jack fell in step beside him, quiet and brooding and still intimidating to play alongside—to _be_ around.  Even after most of a year and a fanfuckingtastic season.  _Also_ , a small and treacherous part of his mind pointed out _, just terminally handsome despite his awkwardness_.

‘Good practice, eh.’

Dex huffed an agreement.  They walked toward East Quad together in silence for a while.  Jack seemed to be working himself up to saying something, and Dex was content to walk in silence until he got it out.  Probably not hockey-related, if he had to work himself up.

‘Bittle’s birthday’s coming up.’  He sounded nervous, and looked like he was in full hockey robot mode.  How was _he_ the nervous one here?

Dex nodded, more perplexed now.

‘And the oven is on its last legs.’

‘…Yes.  Probably gonna crap out within the week—at least beyond my ability to fix it.’  Was Jack going where it seemed like he was?

‘I thought it would be good if the team all chipped in what we could to replace it for him.’  Still no human emoting.  What the fuck.

‘Good for the team, too.  Everyone’s been kinda depressed at the reduction in our baked goods.’

‘Bittle’s a bad influence.’

‘You say this as you talk about _buying him an oven_.’

‘With the team’s help.’  Jack raised an eyebrow, either an expectation or a joke.  Please let it be a joke.

‘We can’t all afford to contribute, Jack.  Where’s the rest coming from?’  Dex rolled his eyes, already knowing Jack’s answer.

‘I wasn’t going to ask you or anyone else in financial straits to contribute cash—I’ll be making up the rest of what people don’t contribute.  But I know you would probably prefer to help out in some way that didn’t strain your finances.  So.  I was hoping.  Euh.’

‘Hoping?’

‘That you might be willing to help out with the installation?  You seem to know about ovens.’

‘Yeah.  I can do that.  This is a wicked big gift, you know.’

They walked into East Quad, swiped their meal cards, and snagged trays.

‘It’s utilitarian, too.  The Haus needs an oven.  We all benefit from it.  Plus, Ransom says that we owe him three new ones according to Excel.’

‘And we all believe Excel, at least when Ransom’s in earshot.’  Dex rolled his eyes, but nodded at Jack.

Dex left Jack at the omelet station—as far as he was concerned, it was a pancakes morning.  Peanut butter and maple syrup.  Coffee, water, and a glass of that ridiculous cranberry juice/weak lemonade mix that Nursey swore by, in case he’d already spilled his.

Team breakfast was uneventful and subdued.  Some part of the team had already given up on Bitty’s provision of baked goods and resorted to those from the dining hall instead.  They had to know Bitty was at least subconsciously keeping track of it, though.  Nursey hadn’t saved him a seat all week, opting instead to glom onto Shitty regardless of where he sat.  Dex was somewhat surprised to realize that he _wasn’t_ irked by it. 

Dex sat down on Shitty’s other side, already armed with several articles to discuss, if they ever got to their morning political wrangling today. 

‘You got any idea where you’re gonna live yet, Shits?’  Nursey asked, failing to not sound worried.

‘Nah, brah.  That’s months away yet.  We’ve got some playoffs to win first.  Gotta send Zimmermann off to his great NHL reward with another trophy for his case.’

‘I’m sure you wouldn’t mind one for yourself, Shits.’

‘True, true.  It’d be nice for my last game to end with a win.  But I’ll always have gotten to the final four with you guys, no matter how next week turns out.’

‘Shitty, you’re talking about leaving again—any more of that and you’re gonna have to start fining yourself.’

‘Hey—you were the one who brought up where I’d be living, Nursey.  In reality, probably gonna find an apartment in Cambridge.  I can probably take advantage of my dad’s connections to snag a nice one, but it’d be better if my mom had an in.’

‘Dr. Sullivan with the hookup?’

‘She knows her colleagues, and you can be sure that at least one of them is a collegiate slum lord.’

Dex’s pocket buzzed.

 **Christopher Chow:** No politics for you today.

 **Me:** No decent baked goods, either.  Shit morning.

 **Christopher Chow:** I can’t handle both of you sulking at the same time, Dex.  Nursey’s got priority on that one.  So you be happy.  Or whatever that translates to in your world =P

 **Me:** Burn.

 **Christopher Chow:** You know what would solve all of that for all of us?

 **Me:** Whatever it is you’re about to suggest would solve it, I’m sure.  For an undefined value of ‘it.’

 **Christopher Chow:** I’m glad you’re aware of and admire my social problem-solving abilities.

 **Me:** Admire is strong.

 **Christopher Chow:** Tomorrow’s Spring C!  You’re going.

 **Me:** I, uh, wasn’t planning to?

 **Christopher Chow:** Too bad.  You are.

Dex looked up from his phone and directly into the full force of Chowder's sad-goalie puppy dog eyes.  There was no hope—either of escape or of staying strong through their entire class—so Dex sighed and gave in.

 **Me:** Fine.  Fine.  Just stop with the weaponized sadness.  Please. 

 **Christopher Chow:** Just promise me that you’ll be there and I will.  It’ll make Nursey happy!  He’s so excited about Santigold that it might distract him from his moping.

 **Me:** I promise.  Can I get back to my breakfast now?  We have class in, like, eight minutes.

Chowder offered him an enormous teal-and-metal grin.

 

Dex got up early on Saturday.  Started things off with a run.  The snow had finally receded and the ground had dried up over the spring break they’d all sacrificed at the altar of the hockey gods, so the concert wouldn’t completely destroy the quad.  Well.  Only a little bit.  Once he’d showered, he went into town for his monthly haircut.  On his way back—to the Haus, not his dorm—he stopped by Jerry’s to get himself coffee and to get Nurse a chai, which was apparently a thing he did now.  Farmer had made sure the volleyball house collectively paid for his handyman services that she’d volunteered him for (which had—hopefully combined with her own prowess and the forceful delight of her personality—apparently earned her dibs, or whatever their equivalent was, for next year?), so he indulged himself and got a mocha.  He got the chai extra-hot and insulated it with a second cup so it’d be just about drinkable by the time he got back to the Haus to see what madness was brewing there.

The cool-down walk back to the Haus was relaxing.  He texted Bitty to see if he needed anything from Stop & Shop, but got back a sadface and a sting of emoji he interpreted as wanting a new oven.  If only he knew.  Given the upheaval of playoffs and whatever was bugging Nursey—well, the degree to which Nursey was wigging out about Shitty graduating—he was pleased that he hadn’t shaken things up further by coming out.  There’d already be enough awkwardness surrounding that when it happened.  If it happened.

Nursey was blowing up the group chat with nonsense he assumed to be lyrics(?).  Dex was surprised he was even awake, never mind that there was team brunch.  If he was gonna get as schwastey as he did after Lardo’s show, it was going to be a _long_ day.  Probably Dex shouldn’t drink too much if Nursey got an early start of it: _someone_ would need to keep a lookout for the sorry bastard.

The Haus madness in question, it turned out, was brunch.  A brunch without pastries, since Bitty was unwilling to put effort into pastries that would get him chirped by the people he was feeding.  At least Betsy’s stovetop still worked.  Mostly.  So Ransom and Holster were—jointly, somehow—tending a pot of what was intended to become the black hole.  Bitty was expressing his despair at their continued lack of taste even after he’d lived in the Haus a year and cooked for them for two.  They ignored him in order to continue arguing about how much sesame oil the pasta needed, and whether to add it before or after the peanut butter.  Jack chirped Bitty about its protein content, earning him a dry ‘Ha, ha Mr. Zimmermann’ and a murder-glare.

Chowder was there already, and seemed equal parts glad to see Dex and disappointed that he hadn’t collected Nursey on his way over.  Dex set down the coffee carrier (it was a bit of a waste for just two drinks, but it was recyclable), took both drinks out of it, and tossed it into the paper bag for recycling under the sink.  As Dex sat at the table, Farmer came into the kitchen in Chowder’s sharks hat.  She dropped a dollar into the Sin Bin, dropped a kiss on Chowder’s cheek, and dropped into a seat beside Dex.

‘Morning, William.’

‘Morning, Caitlin.’

‘Formal this morning, are we?’

‘Ayuh.  Uncaffeinated.  Also, s’not like you use our hockey names.’

Nursey arrived, looking underslept but _stoked_.  He had a large reusable grocery bag full of supplies, which he shoved under the table before sitting down between Dex and Shitty.  Dex pushed the chai he’d gotten Nursey over to him, got a nod in response.

‘Why _don’t_ you use our hockey names, Farmer?’

‘I was never actually told to?’

‘Call them whatever you like, Cait.’

‘Because she needs your permission, Chowder.’

‘Shitty, that wasn’t—I—’

‘It’s chill, Chowder; Shitty’s just saying what he feels needs be said, even if it’s not for, uh, your benefit.’

Dex rolled his eyes.  At least Nursey was chirpier today than he had been the rest of the week.

Brunch was eventually served, and was only really notable in the weird mish-mash of dishes served—Ransom and Holster’s bro-cuisine and such brunch food as Bitty could whip up or reimagine in stove-friendly fashion (eggs.  Lots of eggs.  And pancakes.  Just no real pastries).  It vanished almost as quickly as the Haus-dwellers produced it.  From there it was a matter of checking supplies for the afternoon and evening.  Bitty was planning to venture out to the student kitchens to make sure there was at least _some_ pie to be had for the concert and the picnic he’d declared would happen.  Dex made sure to layer the bottom of his backpack with bottles of water—enough for himself and for Nursey when the latter became necessary.

Nursey was squirrelly about the contents of the bag he brought, but Dex was fairly sure he could see not one but _two_ camelbaks and realized with some dread that at least one was probably full of booze.  If he had to be on Nursey Patrol for a full damn day…

After brunch was finished, Nursey announced that he was off to meet up with some of his poetry friends, saying he’d text Shitty to meet up with them once they were at their concert spot.  He left, and Dex realized that his planning was premature: there were hours yet before the concert started.  Although they’d probably want to go at least an hour early to get a decent spot, from what Bitty’d said.  He needed to remember to put sunscreen into his bag.

‘Dex?’ 

‘Huh?’ He snapped out of his reverie to realize that the kitchen was otherwise empty and that the only plate left on the table was his.

‘Just asked if you were finished, hon.’

‘Oh. I’m all set.  Thanks.  Need help with dishes?’

‘I’m not the one you need to impress for dibs.’

‘Can’t I just want to be helpful?’

Bitty handed him a dishcloth for drying.

‘Something on your mind, Dex?’

Dex hesitated.  Something—probably several somethings—were, but… not the time.  It never seemed to be the time these days.

‘Nah.  Just, like, playoffs, s’all.’

‘Mmm.  If you do wanna talk sometime, I’ll listen.’

‘I...  I appreciate it, Bitty.’

 

The team clustered on the two tablecloths Bitty and Dex had found in the basement (Shitty had offered at best vague direction) for most of the first band’s set—some nerd-folk band outta Boston singing the kind of songs that Nursey would drop into the group chat without context and quiz Dex on well after he’d forgotten them.  They had good voices.  Holster was wildly enthusiastic about the quality of their harmony and how improbably on pitch they apparently were.  Late afternoon sunlight slanted down across the back of Dex’s neck, and he checked whether it was time yet to reapply sunblock.  He was nursing one of the beers they’d brought in the drinks cooler.

Bitty, sunburnt and joyful in a tanktop and miniscule shorts, was the schwastiest of the SMH crew—it showed in the thickening of his accent, the non-stop dancing even to inapt songs (even when it impeded serving the berry custard tart he’d put into the store-bought crust, bitching mightily about how he couldn’t trust the oven to do even a shell right), the slightly off the mark sass.  Jack, lying back against the tree he’d declared a good idea for positioning the impromptu blankets, was keeping an eye on him.  Holster was leaning on Ransom and singing along with all the first band’s (the… Broadsides?) songs.  There was one about the Nopetopus.

Shitty and Lardo were somehow flat on their backs and tangled up in each other’s limbs.  Lardo was trying to teach Shitty how to blow smoke rings, but they were nearly finished with the joint, and Shitty was having… limited success.  Lardo was only gloating a little bit.  Shitty was ridiculous in defeat, but self-awarely so.

When he arrived—swaying just slightly as he picked his way through the overlapping spots claimed by other wellies, a string of apologies trailing in his wake—Nursey waved at everyone before slumping over into their cuddle pile.  He was in thigh-hugging shorts and a v-neck and his ever-present green beanie.  Lardo kicked his legs until she could use them as support for her own.

Nursey took a swig from the tap of one of his camelbaks and grimaced.

‘Is that the booze or the water, Nurse?’

‘Uhhhhhhh—s’vodka.  Y’wansome?’

‘I’m set.  Drink this, Nursey.’  Dex tossed him a bottle of water.  It landed between his chest and Shitty.  Nursey fumbled about before unscrewing it and pouring it down his throat.

‘Chowder and Farmer left a few minutes ago to find you after how long it took to get you here.’

Still supine, Nursey flung an arm up toward the sky.  ‘Well, William, tell them that I am _heeeeere_ now.’

 **Me:** Nursey wanted me to tell you he’s here now.  Also, he’s got a wicked bazz on.

 **Christopher Chow:** Sounds hilarious!!  We’ll make our way back when they change sets.  Over with the volleyball team right now.

Bitty started to complain about the temperature when the sun fell toward the trees.  Jack threw a jacket vaguely in his direction.  Ransom handed him a beer.  Dex waved to Chowder and Farmer as they approached the hockey team’s claim.

The next band was not really to Dex’s taste—or, apparently Nursey’s, since he dismissed it as ‘some kind of Belle & Sebastian cover band’ before rolling over (his head rotating up Shitty and his legs dislodging Lardo, to her strong protests) to face Shitty and start bitching about it.  Lardo sat up and claimed Shitty’s chest as her pillow.  Jack looked out of place, but seemed to be keeping an eye on everyone.

Dex decided to take a breather.

‘I’m gonna head to the Haus to get some more water for us.  We’re good on beer, right?  Do you want me to find you your jacket while I’m there, Bitty?’

‘Sweet to offer, but Jack’s got me.’

‘K.  Anyone else?’  Dex waited.  ‘Taking silence as no.  Back in a bit.’

Levering himself up off the tree he’d been leaning against, Dex picked his way out of the throngs of students milling about groups of varying density.  He was skirting past a large contingent of other freshman—maybe from Olin?—when someone fell directly into his side.  Dex was about to deploy his elbows when the guy stabilized himself with a sheepish expression his open, brown face.

‘Hey—sorry, sorry.  You alright?’  Hands brushed off Dex’s shoulder and arm where he’d been run into.  Unclear what the guy—almost as tall as Dex, but bigger, broader in shoulder and hip—was brushing off.

‘Yeah—you?’

‘Yes.  Just, um.  Was distracted.’  The guy—who Dex recognized from one of his CS classes the term before—suddenly refused to make eye contact.  His shoulders, Dex saw with appreciation, filled out his White Sox jersey nicely.

‘Where're you off to—you need an escort?  Would be a shame for you to run over someone less able to absorb your impact.’  Dex smirked when dark eyes snapped up to inspect his face.

‘If it’s no trouble, just to the edge of the crowd, maybe.’  He stuck out a strong-looking hand to shake.  ‘I’m Louis.’

‘Will, but enough people here call me Dex that I respond faster to that.’

‘Seems legit.  You took A Programmer’s Lexicon with Stafford last term, right?’

‘Yeah!  I thought I recognized you when we started Data Structures.’

They fell into step, making CS- and class-related small talk, just as the crowd’s overall density subsided enough to allow for it.  Louis’s steps seemed a bit faltering, so Dex occasionally reached out to steady him—that had the opposite effect as intended, since he seemed liable to lean into Dex’s touch, leading him further off balance.  After having to catch the guy twice, he resigned himself to Nursey-Patrolling him to the edge of the mass of students.

Louis seemed like he was freezing and seemed to constantly cuddle up inside Dex’s arm.

They got to the edge of the field the concert had been set up on, and Dex disengaged from Louis.  He got a bright, drunken smile from his erstwhile classmate, who thrust a phone at Dex and said to put his number in.  Dex felt a bit like he was watching over his own shoulder as he did the unimaginable: thoughtlessly put his number into a cute guy’s phone for no better reason than that the guy had asked. 

They parted ways, and Dex very consciously did not look over his shoulder.

It was hard to reconcile, Dex thought as he got to the Haus, the prickling of his skin with the idiot grin on his face.  With effort, he schooled his face as he poked about the kitchen.  He’d just have to ride out the anxiety—the price of that sort of impulsivity (this was well within the realm of Things You Cannot Want, although Bitty and Nursey made it look so easy).  Kelly’d be proud of him, though, for whatever reason. 

Dex dawdled in the Haus—snagged himself a couple cookies as pay for the trouble of retrieving it, nevermind that it was on his own initiative and a way to get a bit of space (and to avoid that shitty band.  They had a two hour set, right?  Probably couldn’t spend alllll that time away, but a boy could dream?  Well no—wishes and dreams were for impossible things, and therefore useless).  He hunted around for the good chocolate, just to see if he could find Bitty’s hiding spot.

Ten minutes in, he realized it was a dumb idea, but he still wanted something chocolate—then he remembered the existence of mug cakes.  So he made himself one with Bitty’s ‘everyday’ chocolate, and ate it in contented contemplation.  Then he realized that folks would wonder why he’d taken so long just to get water (and that band would still be playing when he got back).  So.

There were nine mugs that were neither chipped nor cracked, if he reused his.

Dex experimented to see how many he could microwave at once (just one, it turned out; he ate both failed experiments, only half irked because _chocolate_ , and rewashed the mugs).  Once each mug had a cake, he got a box out of the basement and loaded it up with water, beer, and mug cakes before returning to his teammates.

Bitty had sagged against Jack’s side when Dex got back to the team.  Ransom, Holster, Shitty, Lardo, and Nursey had established a back-rub circle.   Shitty was groaning and leaning back into Holster’s hands, running his mouth like he were playing a spoken-word version of gay chicken.  Nursey was just running his hands over Ransom’s back, apparently in the useless and unmotivated stage of drunkenness.

‘Hate to interrupt the love-fest, but… I come bearing chocolate.’

‘Wha’d you do to my kishen, Dex?’

‘I used the microwave, one of your metal bowls, and probably a third of the unhidden chocolate.  Not the good stuff, because you won’t tell me where you hide it.  I cleaned up when I was done, and that’s why it took me a while to get back.’

‘What’d you bring us, Dexy?’

‘Chocolate mug-cakes.  They won’t be up to Bitty’s snuff, but they’re at least baked goods of a sort that don’t require an oven, since Bitty won’t trust it just now, and I’m not sure I can fix it much longer.’

‘You just wanted chocolate’s what I’m hearing, Pointy.’

‘Yes.  And then I decided I should share.’

‘Grats on absorbing basic lessons from kindergarten.’

‘Four older siblings taught me about lopsided definitions of sharing early, Nurse.’

‘Good that you’re starting to cross-apply those lessons.  We’re all proud.’

Shitty interrupted by making grabby hands at Dex, who started passing out the mug cakes.  He was two cakes shy, since Wicky had arrived in the interim.  He counted himself out—he’d had the chocolate and the break he’d needed at the Haus, anyway.  Lardo also waved him off, winking as she said that she was saving herself for Bitty’s goods.

‘You are officially useful in the kitchen, Dex.  This is the best thing I’ve ever had out of a microwave or a mug.’

‘Holster’s right, honey—you did good.’

‘I also brought more water.  Seems like a variety of you could use it.’

‘Oh, good.  Bittle took a strong pull from Nurse’s camelbak earlier before he knew it was vodka, not water.  Took a second drink from it after _someone_ ’ Jack sent a pointed look toward Holster ‘gave him shit for choking on the unexpected booze.’

‘That seems like a thing that would happen.’

Canned music came on—they were once again between sets.  Santigold was up next.  Chowder and Farmer got up from cuddling on the tablecloth/blanket as she took the stage to a roar from the crowd.  Dex recognized the first song she played, so it must have been _extremely_ popular to know it from not-just-Nursey’s-music.  Nursey started dancing by himself, loose and drunk and continually moving to correct his lack of balance.

Dex moved closer to stop Nursey’s inevitable fall.

It took two songs, but it did happen.  The third song’s tempo switched way down.  Nursey tried to take it in stride, but it went… poorly.    Dex caught him as he toppled, shifting his beer from one hand to the other just in time to snag his friend by the shoulders.

‘You might have had enough dancing.’

‘But you won’t sing with me and s’no _fun_ to sing alone.’

Dex nodded toward the stage.

‘She’s doing just fine—better’n I could.  Sing along and you won’t be singing alone.’

So Nursey sang along with her, to a song about comfort and longing—and parades, apparently.  He could carry an alright tune, although his voice was no match for Holster’s or Bitty’s.  Dex recognized some of the songs in the middle of the set from hearing Nursey play them—the one with the line about wanting being dangerous had naturally stuck in his head.  Nursey gradually slumped into Dex’s side over the course of the set.  At least he was cooperative and drank water when Dex handed him a bottle (otherwise he tried—with some limited success—to drink from his vodka camelbak).

When Derek finally fell asleep on him, Dex decided they should head out.  Chowder said he’d normally have taken that last step of Nursey Patrol, but... (it was moot given Caitlin’s presence).  He’d at least looked abashed when Dex pointed that out (it would open him up to way too much getting pawned off on him to admit he didn’t mind it).

Dex walked Nursey home.  They didn’t say much—Dex figured that Nursey was just tired and falling back into himself after so much exuberance and socializing at the concert.  His shoulders were tight, though, and he was drawn into himself in a way that Dex mostly associated with his own habits—when he _wasn’t thinking about_ something.

So, when they got back to Norris, Dex had Nursey sit down on his bed to take his shoes off—and then sat down beside him.

‘You ok, Nursey?’

‘…you already know the answer to that.’

‘Yeah, but I’m inviting you to talk about it.  If you want.  I know I’m not as useful in this sort of situation as, like, Chowder or—god—anyone.  But I’m here for you.’

‘I mean.  You noticed.  You almost always do.  It’s—well, you know.’

‘I have suspicions, but unless you say—and, again, you don’t _have_ to—I won’t actually _know_.  Which is fine, cuz this is your shit, and I don’t want to like, drag it out of you unwillingly.’

‘Shitty’s—’ Nursey coughed, the beginnings of a sob wrenched from his chest ‘Shitty’s graduating.’

‘Yeah.’

‘I mean, that’s just a fact.  It’s just the future.  It’s _just_ inevitable.’  Despondent Nursey, Dex thought to himself, is extra as fuck.

‘In the way that time moves on, yeah.’  Dex tentatively put a hand on Nursey’s back.  Nursey leaned back into it.

‘It’s all ending.  Playoffs are gonna be done one way or the other in—a week.  And then there’s—finals and then he’ll be—gone.  I won’t be his teammate anymore.  I’ll just—just—’ he gasped for breath ‘be an acquaintance from college.’

Nursey was crying freely now, messily drunken.  An emotional cloudburst.  He’d never dealt with Nursey melting down before—never seen it or even _heard_ of it.  Not the ending to the night he’d expected.

‘Hey.  Nursey.  Nurse.  Listen.  Do you really think that Shitty’s gonna, like, disappear and abandon us?’

‘He’s gonna be in law school.  In Boston.  At _Harvard_.’

Dex handed him some tissues to wipe the snot off his face.

‘Yeah.  At _Harvard_.’  Dex put a more dismissive emphasis on the name than Nursey had.  ‘You’ve listened to more of his rants about progressive values and toxic masculinity and, like, allyship than I have, although I bet you’ve had fewer of them directed squarely at you.  Do you _really_ think that he’s gonna love it there the most?  That he won’t want somewhere he can just—to steal your word for a moment—chill?  Plus, law school is gonna be waaaaaaaay too fond of clothes for him to ever really love it.  He’ll be in the Haus at least twice in September’s my guess.’

Dex was rubbing his hand up and down Nursey’s back now, like his mom did when he was a little kid and inconsolable about something.  It had always helped—he wondered, then, when she’d stopped as he got older.

‘D’you know what it’s like, though, to miss someone like that, Pointy?’

‘Yes.’  Dex didn't mean it to come out sharp, but...

‘Oh.  Sorry.’

‘No, don’t apologize, Nursey.  You’re drunk, though, and we're both tired, and that might be a better thing to talk about when you’re not either of those things?  You sometimes forget stuff when you’re drunk, and I—would really like to only have to talk about it once.’

‘Oh.  Yeah.  Sorry.’

‘No.  You’re done apologizing.  K?  How’re you doing?’

‘It hurts.  Missing him before he’s even gone.  It’s high-key the worst fucking thing.’

‘I believe you.  You want a hug?’

‘That.  Yeah.  If that’s okay?’

‘Wouldn’t have offered if it weren’t.  C’mere.’

Dex pivoted Nursey on his bed, so Nursey’s legs sprawled across his lap, and folded his friend into his arms.  Nursey clung to him like he were a tree branch he might fall from, or a life raft.  He let Nursey dictate the length of the hug—letting him go when he stirred.

‘You good, dude?  Or, like, better, at least?’

‘Yeah, thanks.  You give good hugs.’

‘Buncha siblings.  James is the only who, like, doesn’t appreciate being touched.  By dudes, anyway.  He could benefit from some of Shitty's lectures on toxic masculinity.  My sisters, though, are all kinds of physical in their affections.’

‘Huh.  S’cool.’

‘If you’re good, then, I should probably let you sleep, yeah?’

‘Probably.  Thanks, Dexy, for being on Nursey Patrol.  I know you, like, hate it and all.’

‘Eh.  It’s only bad when you make it hard to take care of you.  Or when you’re railing against the necessity of it.  Anyway, I’mma head out.  You sleep well, k?’

‘Yeah.  You too, when you do.’

* * *

Siobhan had always gone to Billy’s hockey games, ever since he’d been little.  His first goal, his first fight, his first injury—she’d been there for all of them.  She said she liked hockey, even when her knowledge of the sport had been limited.

When Billy asked once, she talked about the art of it—the lines left behind on the ice by all the skating, the dynamic images of the players, the enthusiasm and frustration conveyed more by posture and gesture than by expression.  She often brought paper to sketch on, but sometimes she just watched.  Those games often resulted in drawings she’d show Billy days or weeks later, more about the motion of the scene than the figures in it.

Siobhan came to his games even after he could drive, even after he stopped buggin’—after he was William for good and all.  After Ryan was gone.  She stopped bringing her art once that went down, though.  She had enough drawings by then to do an entire class project on clothing as armor featuring an undue number of hockey players wearing vulnerable expression underneath their helmets.

She decided to start taking classes at Central Maine Community College William’s junior year.  That was the first year ever that Siobhan missed more games than she attended.  William understood, mostly.  She was busy.  Growing up, and all that.

No one was there to notice that William was rowdier that year.  Louder and more apt to provoke fights.  Logged more penalty minutes.  Lonelier, too, but William would have _decked_ anyone who voiced **that** accusation.

Siobhan gave each of her siblings a portrait that year for Christmas.  William’s was a joke, a caricature that Kelly and James would laugh at for different reasons.  The note, which everyone was fortunate that William read before unwrapping the drawing, said she’d give him the real one during the post-tree lull.

In his actual portrait, William stood stiffly in his pads, shoulders noticeably tight even under the literal armor they provided—one white-knuckled hand around a hockey stick, the other holding (clutching) a helmet.  The helmet had, imprinted on the glass of the visor, the ghost of a pinched, closed-off face that strongly resembled William most days.  William’s actual face held an oddly tender mix of expressions—determined eyes, slightly widened as if disarmed or surprised, a lonely quirk to his mouth.

William did not cry when he saw the drawing.  He didn’t.  He very stoically held his face like the expression on his visor.  He hugged a surprised Siobhan and told her that it was amazing and that he obviously had to hide it.  She helped him tuck it safely between the pieces of cardboard that held diplomas and other important certificates safely flat at the back of his closet, where it would remain until there was a place he could hang it safely.

* * *

Shitty and Fred’s dorm room had a very large window that, if you slid it fully open, could easily fit a motivated student through it—such as, on many nights, Fred’s girlfriend.  Tonight, Shitty gathered his crew—Fred, Arthur, Abreu, Roman, and Joey—for a final adventure before they graduated.  Shitty insisted that, if he was down for it, Nurse should absolutely join them.

It involved at least four distinct causes for expulsion.

The plan, such as it were, involved three six-packs, a rudimentary knowledge of campus security, and the application of art in spray-paint form to the underside of the graffiti bridge near the boathouse.

‘Gentlemen,’ Shitty intoned in the WASPiest voice he could muster while grinning and handing out beers.  Nursey got a bottle pre-emptied and filled instead with water, by prior agreement.  ‘Tomorrow, half of us depart to our next great endeavors, or at least whatever we’re doing over the summer.  Regardless of that, we shall not return to this place where we wasted our sweet youths.  We should mark the occasion and memorialize its passing as our forebears have done before us.  By which I mean—let’s go tag a bridge!’

‘Uh, Shitty, what if we get caught?’  Arthur, a slender dude from Hong Kong who held down one of the lighter wrestling classes and who was a coxswain in the spring, was less adventurous than the rest of Shitty’s crew.

‘First, brah, we won’t.  Second, if that fails, you will scatter and I’ll stay behind to talk to whatever authorities find us.  If all else fails, I’ll call my father.  He will be very disappointed in me—like usual—and make sure that I am presentable tomorrow so-help-him-God.  Regardless, you beautiful motherfuckers will be uninvolved in any repercussions.’

It was resolved.  Black t-shirts (long-sleeved if possible—most of these guys were _very_ white), dark pants or black jeans if you had 'em, and gloves were the recommended dress.  A meeting point was set at the forested edge of Bell field at midnight.  Mr. Conti, the classics teacher on duty that night, did his last sweep through the dorm at 11:45—an hour past light’s out for seniors. 

Nurse’s heart stuttered in his chest as he crept down the hall, trying to be a shadow within the darkness.  He knocked quietly on Fred & Shitty’s door; the light coming from the gap beneath it vanished.  The door opened, and Shitty pulled Nurse inside without a word.  The door closed, the light returned, and Shitty grinned.

‘Glad you made it, brah!  Gonna miss you.’

Nurse’s throat burned, and he didn’t trust his voice to respond in any sort of chill fashion.  He just hugged Shitty and nodded into his shirt—as if it were normal, as if this didn’t feel like a prelude to apocalypse.

‘The guys from Coe and Sawyer are meeting us by Bell field as agreed.  Just you and me and Fred from here.  He’ll be back from the bathroom in a moment, I hope, and then we’ll go.  I’m mad excited for this.’

Nurse just smiled in return, and tried to let himself seem as excited as Shitty felt.  A little of that excitement even pierced his dread.  That was how Nurse found himself witnessing a beautiful work of vandalism on a muggy May night.

Joey, another of the Hong Kong kids and one of Shitty’s rowing buddies—his straight black hair still growing out from when he shaved it off (aside from the one braided lock he kept tucked behind an ear)—met them at the bridge with a satchel full of stencils and several cans of paint in several basic colors, including Andover’s blue and white.  He had a proposed plan on his phone, which the other seniors quickly approved.  Nursey and the upper-mids nodded as if they had any say in it.  Each of the seniors was to have a hand in the tagging, but Joey was to do the bulk of the art.  Shitty sprayed the first line, followed by Roman and Fred.  After their contributions, each senior took up a lookout spot with a vantage of Joey’s continued progress and the various approaches to the scene of the crime.

No one said anything, and the humid silence was broken only by the sounds of insects, cars on the bridge above, and the shake-and-spray of applied art.  Nurse stayed close-in, standing mostly out of sight, watered beer bottle long disposed of.  Shitty had taken pains to impress upon the upper classmen that no blame or even mention of the underclassmen was to happen if anyone got caught.  Oaths were sworn, solemn as only almost-adult boys can be, and Nurse felt safer for it.  It didn’t, naturally, change that his best and closest friends were vanishing from his life the next day, but it was enough to buoy him through the night’s idiocy.

Joey stepped back from the bridge and, in a stage whisper, announced his success.  The lookouts abandoned their posts to inspect it.  Muffled noises of approval reached Nurse, who maintained his vigil until Shitty offered to take over so he had a turn to check it out.

The school sigil occupied, adulterated, the open page of one side of a suspiciously Harvardly book.  If one looked closely, the usual flowers more closely resembled hops and the beehive had become a still.  The motto now read _finis origine mutat_.  The other page featured crossed oars with Andover striping separating numbers that read ‘2011’ if taken clockwise in the quadrants.

Nurse gave Joey a smile and a judicious nod, as if his thoughts on the spray painted sigil’s quality mattered.  Joey grinned, offered a fist to bump.  They made their jubilant way back to campus, those who still had beer disposing of the contents and then ditching the bottles in public trash bins.  Once back on campus, the posse quieted, splitting off in singles or pairs with bro-hugs and fist bumps.  A wave of sadness overtook Nurse, then, watching this quiet, final celebration among his friends-by-proxy.  He felt more present in his grief than in the scene around him.  Once back through the window into Shitty’s room, Nurse gave Shitty another hug, tight and uncharacteristic, and fled back to his own room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My unstated theory/justification (beyond just having a budget) for having Santigold was that a dean knew her or her manager or something. It was shockingly difficult to find information on the actual names of dorms and fields at Andover, so I punted on that one.
> 
> Also, there's nothing like trying to properly write the slang of people a decade younger than you to make you feel old.


	8. Chapter 8

The buzzer sounded, they were still two goals down, and that was it.  They’d lost.  The season was over.  Jack and Shitty weren’t going to get their big win.  Nursey forced himself to smile—tight, grim, rote—through the handshake line, and then the team retreated off the ice.

It was nobody’s fault—no individual's fault, anyway—Nursey thought, even as a darker part of his brain was laughing at that like it were an excuse instead of the mere truth.  They’d been outplayed—marginally—and luck had favored the other guys.  Chowder was going to be beating himself up after the one goal that had bounced in off his ankle.  Jack would be livid with himself for the shots that had bounced the wrong way.  Poindexter was already livid, possibly just generally.  Probably on Chowder’s behalf, too—after all, to get to Chowder, they’d have to get by Dex and Nursey (or Ransom and Holster) first.

Dex’s helmet preceded the team into the locker room, bouncing twice across the S before rolling to a stop.  The ginger himself was quivering in front of Nursey, shoulders scrunched like he was trying to fold in on himself.  Nursey idly wondered what the alternative was.

Lashing out, probably.  And then beating himself up (a continuing theme) for doing so.  Probably beating himself up for feeling like he might?  Shit.  Best to stop that line of thought before it gained any traction.  Weird enough to be aware of the degree it hurt to know what a negative headspace occupied Dex just then.

Before he knew what he was doing, Nursey laid his hand on Dex’s shoulder.  Dex, impossibly, tensed further for a moment but then relaxed at the contact.  Nursey steered them toward their cubbies.  They stripped down and showered in silence.  Ransom and Holster seemed to be shepherding Chowder along between them—he was grateful for that.

It spared Nursey the guilt of abandoning Chowder so he could deal with Dex.

Nursey put that one aside for later introspection as he climbed back into his street clothes.  Once they were dressed again, Dex stuck pretty close by.  Nursey caught his eye and nodded toward Lardo, who was going over checklists—probably of what they had to take with them or whatever—with Murray and Hall.  Once they’d packed their shit into their hockey bags, they got corralled into taking an unlabeled box each out to the bus.  Kicking his feet through drifted confetti—wondering idly if there was red-and-white confetti still loaded above the arena for if they’d won—Nursey bumped shoulders with Dex to draw his attention back to the present.

‘You holdin’ up, Dex?’

‘I’m still here, yeah.  How’s life behind the Walls of Chill?’

‘Stuffing it all away to deal with later, if I’m being honest.’

‘So, like normal but moreso?’

‘Damn.  It’s like you know me.’

‘Had most of a year to work on figuring you out.  Thanks, by the way.’

‘It’s—it’s no problem, dude.  Let’s go see if Lardo needs more shit hauled.’

They put the boxes underneath the bus, along with their bags—apparently not content with throwing his helmet in the locker room, Dex slung his bag into the under-bus storage with some force.  On the way back in, they passed the bulk of the team in singles or pairs—and the trio of Ransom and Holster herding Chowder toward the bus.  Ransom had a hand on his shoulder; Holster had his bag.  Lardo was still in the locker room; Jack and Bitty’s bags were still there, but they were nowhere to be seen.

‘You still got things for us to do, Lardo?’

‘Not unless you’ve seen Jack or Bitty, no.’

‘I’ll text him.’

 **Me:** Bitty—you okay?  You seen Jack?  Your bag and his are the only two left.  Everyone else has gone to the bus.  
 **Bits:** I’m alright, Nursey, thanks.  Jack’s heading back to the locker room in a moment.  He still needs to shower.

‘Jack’s on his way back from—wherever he was hiding.  Bits seems like he knows.’

 **Me:** if you’re going back to the bus, I’ll get your bag for you.  
 **Bits:** [heart emoji][thumbs-up emoji]

‘If he’s not coming back to the locker room, I’ll get his bag.’

 **Me:** [several pie emoji] (actually, Dex is carrying your bag.)

The lines of Dex’s shoulders and stride still projected pent-up force, and Nursey wished there were something he could do to ease that tension.  Dex—very carefully—placed Bitty’s bag on top of the rest.  Seeing Nursey watching him, he raised an eyebrow, as if daring him to comment.

They got on the bus.  Fifteen pairs of eyes watched them walk down the aisle in silence.  Nursey met Shitty’s with a grimace, got a nod in return.  Dex deathmarched to the back of the bus.  As he passed Chowder—sitting beside Ransom in Holster’s usual seat, Holster having taken up across the aisle—Nursey quirked an eyebrow and jerked his head toward the back of the bus.  Chowder grimaced, but nodded.  As he continued past, following Dex, Nursey heard a murmur and then noises of someone standing up from a seat to follow.

Dex had taken the center seat of the three in the back row.  Seeing that Chowder was following Nursey, he slid toward the bathroom.  Nursey nodded his thanks and took the window.  Chowder took the middle seat, and both of the other Frogs leaned in against him almost as soon as he was comfortable.  A minute or so later, Nursey saw Ollie and Wicky looking like they might move toward the back of the bus, too—only to stop when the force of Dex’s glare hit them.

No one sat in the two rows ahead of them.  Nursey watched Bitty approach the bus, phone in hand—Dex’s phone buzzed, so he assumed that Bitty was thanking him for taking his bag.  Murray and Hall boarded, and then Jack and Lardo took up the rear—Lardo carrying Jack’s bag and saying something to Jack, who nodded, face drawn.

‘O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells,’ Nursey muttered to himself as Jack got on the bus, ‘Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills/ For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding—’

Dex reached across Chowder to thwap Nursey on the shoulder.  Nursey met his eyes and tried for a smirk.  Dex rolled his eyes, but at least smiled a little.

‘For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning—’ Nursey continued.

‘Really, Nurse?  Is that necessary?  Jack isn’t dead.  Also, he’s not your father.’

‘Awwwww, c’mon, Dexy, you’re spoiling it.  But yeah.  Jack’s very _not_ my father.’

‘Guys, don’t fight.  I can’t handle that right now.’

‘We’re not fighting, Chowder,’ they said in unison.  Dex, hearing Nursey echo him, looked shocked.  Nursey snickered.

‘He’s just being inappropriately poetic in the face of Jack’s mourning.’

‘And Dex just doesn’t appreciate Walt Whitman properly.’  Nursey waggled his eyebrows, pushing just that little bit that might be too far.

‘What, because he was one of the earliest gay poets?  That’s—’

‘American ones, anyway.’

‘Frogpile.  Now, please.  Also, both of you shut up.  Or if you have to talk, be comforting, like to each other.’

‘And to you, too, Chowder.  We’ve got you.’  Dex slumped over into Chowder’s space, pushing the goalie onto Nursey.  Nursey fended him off for long enough to put his pillow on the window-side turn to lean back on it, and arrange himself so he’d be comfortable to lean over onto.

‘There we go.  Frogpile achieved.  How’re you doing, Chowder?’

‘Don’t really wanna talk about it, if that’s okay?’

‘Course.  We specialize in that over here.  Just remember that—whatever you’re thinking, losing wasn’t your fault.  Or if you feel like you gotta, then it wasn’t exclusively your fault.  The puck had to get past me and Nursey, too, to get to you.’

‘More not-talking, please.’

 

Nursey holed up in his room for several days after they got back.  He felt withdrawn, and was mourning the season and the seniors both—and the intrusions of other people’s feelings and successes and shit would only spoil it (Dorian had gotten off the waitlist to Columbia, and was—justifiably—fucking stoked about it).  Really, it took a combination of his finally getting lonely in his room, Jack giving Chowder his dibs, and a text from Lardo.  

 **Giggles:** Get over here, idiot.  We miss you.  Also, Shitty demanded I cut his hair.  
 **Me:** oh, fuck.  Omw.  Tell him to hold off a sec?  
 **Giggles:** Yeah no.  He invoked his grandparents and the other g-word.  
 **Me:** …fuck.

Nursey stuffed his laptop into his bag, slapped on a snapback, and jogged over to the Haus.  On the way—on a whim—he reached up into one of the blooming trees to snap off a twig ending in a flower to tuck behind his ear.  It was almost certainly a dogwood, but Nursey wasn’t sure.  He waved to a couple acquaintances from his Intro Poetry class, but kept going instead of stopping to chat.

There was Shitty’s (impending lack of) hair to consider.

When he arrived at the Haus, the Lax Bros were playing frisbee in their front yard, and a disc came bouncing across the street.  Nursey grabbed it off the curb and hucked it back toward them (why was he only graceful when his detractors weren’t there to witness?).  He waved to Chowder and Farmer, who were sitting on the bench on the front porch holding hands and talking quietly.  As Nursey approached, Chowder took his hand off Caitlin’s.

‘Dude, don’t stop on my account.  Not gonna fine you.  That whole thing’s kinda awful when it discourages relationships.  I’m just here cuz Shitty’s apparently going crazy and about to get the Chop.’

‘Oh, yeah!  Lardo told him he needed to wash his hair before she’d cut it.  That was, like, ten minutes ago?

‘Hi to you, too, Derek.  Good to see you with just your normal level of stubble.’

‘Sup Farmer.’

‘Not much.  Hanging out with a team of mourning hockey boys.  Also this one.’

Farmer kissed Chowder on his cheek.  He beamed and leaned into her side.

‘You two have fun out here.  I’ll be back after witnessing the demise of Shitty’s flow, unless distracted.’

‘So… you’ll be back out at an indeterminately later time, then, Derek?’

‘Yes.’

Bitty, Dex, and Holster were in the kitchen as he passed.  He heard Dex—apparently just arrived in there—ask where Ransom was.

‘Crying like a child under the table.  Don’t touch him.’

‘Why… would… you know what?  Nevermind.  Show me what you did with Betsy, Bitty, so I can see if she’s better or worse.’

Nursey turned and walked into the living room.  Lardo occupied the biohazard couch, doing something on her laptop.  She looked up at Nursey when he entered, giving him a nod before returning to her work.  He took the open space on the couch and pulled out his own computer.  He opened up a paper and started rereading what he already had.

‘Farmer says you made him wash his hair?’

‘Yeah.  Think he’s still up there.  Probably losing the non-stache part of his face carpet.  You’re still in time to, like, commemorate his loss or whatever.’

‘Mostly I just want to see it, so it’s less a shock when I see him without hair.  He’s had his flow since we were together at Andover.  It seemed like it was a constant, you know?  I suppose I kinda clung to it even after doing so wasn’t necessary.’

Shitty, naturally, walked into the living room midway through that comment. 

‘No need to mourn the flow, my dude.  It will always be with you, in memory and metaphor.  You like metaphors, don’t you, Nursey?’

Nursey rolled his eyes.  Lardo smirked.

‘Actually.’  She set her laptop aside and rolled to her feet.  ‘I’ll be right back.  You two talk amongst yourselves.’

Nursey and Shitty stared at her retreating back in silence.  Shitty was shirtless—freshly clean-shaven, with just his stache and some ill-defined sideburns remaining.  His hair was clean and wet, several shades darker than usual and with longer waves, too, from the weight of the water.  It was the sort of hair that (if one were the sort to enjoy handling hair and if one were close enough to Shitty to be in a position to do so) would probably be great fun to play with—as when Lardo informed him every so often that it was time to put it in braids.  Nursey tried imagining Shitty with shorter hair—Shitty with short hair was next to impossible to conceive.

Shitty turned back to Nursey, eyes bright and just a touch crazed.  He opened his arms—a warning, a request, a question—and waited for Nursey to nod before collecting the defenseman into a clinging hug.  Nursey’d miss Shitty’s hugs when he was gone.

‘End of an era, Shits.’

‘I don’t like it either, but until I can pay for shit myself, needs must—yaknow?’

‘Change isn’t always bad, but—’

‘Don’t even suggest it, dude.  I didn’t vanish after Andover, and this place is so much better than that.  You’re coming to graduation, right?  Mom wants to know whether you’ll sit with her.  She’s declared you family, so there’s that.’

‘Fuck—yeah.  That’d be.  I’d love to.  Tell her that.  And… thanks.  I just worry.’

‘I know.  Fuck, me too.  But what I’m saying is that you don’t have to, at least on this one.  I’m off to get a fake doctorate to one-up your fake nurse status.’

‘It’s not fake; it’s my name.’  Nursey laughed and shoved Shitty off him.  ‘Ass.’

‘Yeah, but we know that you’re not trained to handle injuries, even your own.’

Lardo—who, if Nursey was being honest, had probably been waiting outside the living room with her supplies for them to finish their moment—walked in with a blanket, two different pairs of scissors, and a spool of black satin ribbon.  She directed Shitty to sit on the floor in front of the green couch.  Lacking any shirt to anchor the blanket to, Lardo tucked around him and produced a safety pin from god knows where to secure it.

‘I’m gonna murder your flow in stages.  How short do you want the end result?’

‘Short enough to pass muster with both my bigoted dickweed of a grandfather and the horrifying asshole who sired me.  But no shorter than that, if you can manage it.’

Somewhere in the Haus—upstairs?—a door opened and closed.  Someone came downstairs, probably Jack.  Bitty was still in the kitchen, talking with Dex maybe?  Nursey couldn’t quite hear, but he assumed it was Betsy’s death knell.   

‘So hair off the collar and close behind the ears.  Sideburns?’

‘As much as you I can get away with given the previously mentioned constraints.’

‘So that’s a yes, then.  If you’re gonna stay and witness this, Nurse, you’re gonna need to siddown and stop looming over me.’

‘Yes ma’am.’  Nursey obeyed, moving to flop in the armchair.

‘Don’t ma’am me, either.’

‘Dude.  You’re armed, and I think one of those might be your fabric scissors.  I don’t want to be responsible—well, held responsible, which is very slightly different—for those getting ruined by something so messy as a stabbing.’

‘You were raised to be respectful, we know.  You just apply it at the worst times.’

From there, Lardo slipped into concentrating on hair removal.  She mostly sat behind Shitty, but would occasionally stand up and walk around him—considering him like a sculpture or something.  She would tilt his head forward, backward, to one side or the other, and continue her reductive work.

The first chopping phase was the most drastic—hanks of hair fell away, about a hand-span long.  Thereafter, Lardo produced a comb from… somewhere and started shaping the back of Shitty’s hair.  She blocked off proposed sideburns, trimmed in the sides, and then shortened the top.  Shitty looked puzzled as he inspected himself in her compact mirror.

‘God, what have I done?’

‘What you felt you needed to.  Also, lost several pounds of hair.  Once I’m done, you can sweep it up.’

Shitty made as if to stand and get to that, but she pressed him back down by the shoulders with an admonishing noise.

‘Not done yet.  Also, are the sideburns good?’

‘Yeah, they’re sweet, Lards.  Thanks.’

‘Course.  Gotta make sure you make it to graduation with what little sanity you have left intact.’

‘Ugh.  I don’t want to graduate.  Well.  That’s not true.  I do want to graduate.  I want to already be done with law school.  And to simultaneously be working a job that will change the world and put my still-hypothetical JD to good use for people and still be able to hang out with you all.’

‘I mean, it’s not like we’re gonna say you can’t come back to the Haus.  It’s my room now, but you are always welcome to crash in it for as long as it’s mine, bro.’

‘You’re the best, Lards.  If you weren’t using bladed instruments on me, I’d hug you so hard right now.’

‘I’m gonna put the shears down for a moment, so that’s your cue.  Not done, though.  Still got the top to work on and then edges and corners to blend.  Before—gah’

Shitty, hearing that Lardo had disarmed herself for a moment, spun around and attached himself to her.  Once she recovered, Lardo picked up the scissors again and started methodically cutting lengths of the ribbon she’d brought down with her.  After she had eight or so, she set those aside and separated a lock of hair from the first hank she’d taken off and set aside.  She knotted the hair around the ribbon, and then the ribbon around the hair.

Lardo repeated those steps for each ribbon she’d cut.

Seeing Nursey watching her, Lardo held the locks up to him, keeping two behind.

‘Jack won’t say he’ll want one, and might honestly not.  But he won’t say no. Ransom is probably just sentimental enough to accept one; Holster will treasure it in ways that might border on creepy.  Your guess as to Dex or Chowder.  Well.  No, Dex won’t take it, for all the reasons we’re both assuming of him.  Bitty will just complain that it’s unsanitary.  Offer him one anyway.  It’ll be funny.’

Nursey took the hair, pocketing one lock of it for himself—it was weird, but that was inherent to Shitty, so why not.  He figured Lardo might want a moment with Shitty, particularly with her suggestion that he distribute hair, so he patted Shitty on the shoulder (Shitty appeared to need comforting just as much as those he was leaving behind—that something about graduation Nursey hadn’t considered before) and left the living room.

Jack passed him in the hallway, still looking a bit haggard.  They nodded at each other, and he seemed closer to his usual, awkward self than he had for the prior week, during which everyone had treated him obstinately normally in the face of all evidence to the contrary (Shitty had reminded everyone about Hockey Robot Zimmermann at least twice).  Nursey offered Jack one of the locks of Shitty’s hair; Jack took it, probably before fully registering what it was.  He looked at it, brown hair and black ribbon in his hand.

‘Euh, Nursey—what’s this about?’

‘Lardo’s cutting Shitty’s flow off.  Shitty wanted to save parts of it, or, like memories.  It’s OD nostalgic, but I’m keeping the one he gave me.  Lardo said to make sure you took one, even if you didn’t profess to want it.  So… there.  I can tell her I’ve followed orders, and you can do with that as you will.’

‘That sounds… like a very Shitty thing.  Lardo, too.  Thanks.’

‘Do you know where you’re signing yet?  I know we’re probably not supposed to ask, but it seemed worth a try?’

‘No, sorry—and even if I did, I probably couldn’t talk about it until it’s announced.’

‘Fair.’ 

They went their separate ways.

In the kitchen, Betsy was pulled out from the wall, and Dex’s toolbox was on one of the counters.  Bitty was looking on, distress evident in the lines of his back.  Sounds coming from behind the oven suggested Dex himself was back there working on it.

‘…last thing I made in her was bagel bites.  If only I’d known.’

Walking into the kitchen, Nursey confirmed that Dex was there—sleeves of his shirt pushed up and wearing a backwards Samwell snapback that clashed terribly with his hair.  He wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of a hand—with a screwdriver in it.  That wasn’t dangerous at all (Nursey had a brief horrible image of mishaps involving an eye; this is one more reason he left tools more complicated than rubber mallets to others).

‘…You can actually tell what’s wrong with it?’

‘Well, yeah.’  As if it were obvious—and simple.  ‘And, _sorry_ Bitty.  If someone brought this into my uncle’s shop, we’d probably suggest selling her for scrap.’

‘That’s a horrible thing to say about Betsy, Dex.’

‘I know that to you it’s like desecrating a corpse, Bitty, but.  Not everyone is so wicked attached to their appliances as you are.’

‘So what’s wrong with it, Pointy?’

‘A shorter list would include what’s not busted or threatening to go.  That list includes the structure and, like, three wires.  The rest of it is a fire waiting to happen, from the heating elements to the wiring to the burners.  This oven musta loved you, Bitty, to have held on as long as it did.  Even if you killed her off with bagel bites.’

‘Don’t you salt that wound, William Poindexter.’

‘Didn’t mean to kick you while you were down.  Just pointing out how lucky you’ve been with this thing.  All of the appliances in the Haus are suspect, but.’

Bitty turned around, and caught sight of the hair Nursey was carrying.

 ‘Nursey, honey?  I’m sure you have a good explanation for this, but—why’ve you got a handful of what I suspect to be Shitty’s hair?’

‘It is.  And I do.  Shitty wanted it saved or like passed around for other people to cherish as he assumes they did when it was on his head.  Lardo told me specifically to offer one to you, Bits.’

‘Probably to see how I decline it.’  Bitty harrumphed, blowing hair off his forehead.  ‘It’s unsanitary and I have no particular attachment to it now that it’s no longer on Shitty’s head.’

‘That’s what she predicted.  Good thing there wasn’t money riding on this.  You want one, Dex?’  Nursey smiled brightly at his defensive partner, gratified that his words or tone produced the eye-roll he’d been expecting—or maybe it was just Shitty’s hair.

‘I mean, it’s weird that Shitty’s handing out his hair like it’s a token from a fantasy novel.  And, like, specifically a lady’s token or favor or whatever?  But that’s also a very Shitty thing to do.  But if it means something to him, then sure I’ll take one.’

Dex stood and started putting away his tools.  He took the beribboned lock of hair and tucked it into a tiny drawer in the toolbox that seemed already to have something else in it before closing the box.

‘What, Nurse.  Did you think I wouldn’t take it?’

‘I mean.  No one would have made money if Lards and I had been betting, let’s put it that way.’

‘Boys, if you’re going to fight in my kitchen, _while I am in **mourning**_ , well, you can just not.  Take it elsewhere.’

‘We weren’t fighting.  Yet, anyway.  But since there’s nothing else to do with her, Bitty, s’it alright if I finish up here?  I figure since I’ve got my toolbox here I could poke around at a few other obvious problems and start making a list of needed repairs that I can do.’

‘Sure thing, hon.  Thanks again for trying to save Betsy.  You’re so useful to have around, and kept Betsy running far longer than she would otherwise have done.’

Dex laughed, but sounded sincere when he told Bitty he was sorry for his loss.  He looked at Nurse and motioned with his head toward the kitchen’s exit.  Nursey followed him down the hallway and down the stairs into the basement.

‘This isn’t the part where you lure me into the basement and murder me is it?’

‘Nah.  Too many witnesses that you’re down here with me.’

‘Bitty’s just one witness.’

‘Yeah, but he’s the sort of witness who’d kill _me_.  Also, body disposal would be a problem.  As often as you ask about when and how I’m going to murder you, because apparently you’ve just decided that I’m gonna, you’re remarkably bad at figuring where the good or bad places for it to happen are.  Advantage me, I suppose.’  As he talked, Dex opened up his toolbox and pulled out several tools, including what looked like two nearly-identical sets of pliers(?).

‘I mean, why else would you try to catch me alone?’

‘Shitty gave you one of his favors already, yeah?’

‘Uh, yeah.’  While he wondered at the change in conversational direction, Nursey watched the muscles of Dex’s back shift as they engaged and disengaged as he moved the dryer out from the wall.  Watched the way that the bare lightbulb illuminating the basement glinted off the hair on Dex’s arms.  Realized that this wasn’t the first time he’d been watching Dex like this.  That it had been happening more often lately.

‘…Nursey?’

‘Huh?’

‘I asked if you were alright.  You were… kinda staring.  Spaced out?’

 _Shit_.

‘Yeah, um.  Sorry.  Kinda.  Lost in thought.  Yes.’

Nursey busied himself looking anywhere but at Dex, which was inconvenient, and probably undermined this whole conversation Dex seemed to be wanting to have.  Nursey stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked Dex squarely in the eye—as thankful as ever that he didn’t pink up when he blushed like Dex did.

‘Uh huh.  Still worrying about graduation?’

‘I mean… it’s not a crisis?’

‘That’s good, at least.  You _do_ at least believe that you’re not gonna lose him, right?’  It wasn’t the gentle voice, the reassuring-small-children voice; it was closer to his chirping voice or his deadpan-stating-the-obvious voice than his general delivery.

‘I mean, not right away.  He’ll come back as long as Lardo’s here.’

‘But not you.’  Dex rotated the dryer out so there was space behind it to work.

Nurse looked at the floor, as if Dex were the problem he was unable to face directly.

‘I’m just a freshman he’s had around twice.’  Nursey knew that wasn’t an entirely accurate description of their friendship, but he knew himself well enough that an instinct toward distance wasn’t news.

‘Ah, yes.  Just a freshman.  Who Shitty recognized without prompting on the Taddy tour—like, my first impression of Shitty was how he _lit the fuck up_ when he saw you, bro.’

Dex rolled his eyes.

‘You asked me, a while back, if I’d ever missed someone like you described missing Shitty after he graduated from Andover.’  Dex paused, as if he expected a response from Nursey.  Nursey nodded.  ‘So.  Yeah.  Um.  In 2012, Maine voted—for a second time—on legalizing gay marriage.  It passed.’

‘You’re… skipping around a lot here, dude.’

‘I _know_ that.’  Dex snapped.  Froze.  ‘Sorry.  That was uncalled-for.  I don’t talk about this much.  Little as I can help it, really.  Chowder and Shitty know some of it.  Bitty knows that there’s something there, but it—well.  Concluded abruptly.’

‘I’m listening.’  Nursey sat down on the second step up from the basement.  Dex probably wasn’t _trying_ to minimize Nursey’s feelings or tell him that everything would be fine because it had been fine for him, but… well.  He was trying to be helpful.

‘Might be better if I’m working as I do this.  Sec.’  Dex relocated to the space he’d made, leaving Nursey with clear line of sight to just his snapback.  Nursey could hear him tinkering, the noise of controlled contact of metal on metal.  ‘I’m defensive as fuck.  This is known.  Comes from a long time of—nah.  Details unnecessary.  You didn’t come down here to listen to the white boy whine, I know.  Anyway, Ryan was the best—’

‘Who’s Ryan?’

Dex laughed; it didn’t sound happy.  The noises of budget home repair resumed.

‘Older brother.’

‘I thought you only had the one—James?’

‘How many brothers I have is sorta the point of this—not story, really.  Failure to directly address the topic.  So.  Ryan graduated from college in 2012, right as the second campaign to repeal marriage equality was happening.  The first one went the wrong way, so they tried it again, and the Bishop was against it.  Again.  Shit.  Said that already.’

Nursey turned Dex’s phrasing over in his head as a way to not interrupt.  Maybe it hadn’t turned out fine for Dex, after all.

‘Ryan fought with Ma and Dad a lot—but never where any of us could hear much aside from tone of voice.  The last time he was home before graduation, it was bad—he left with boxes and gave me a big hug.  Couple weeks later, Ma said there were—“complications”—with going to his graduation, so we… didn’t.  Not sure where he went.  Some mail came for him every so often in the first year or so, but even that dried up.’

Nursey continued to wait in case Dex had more.

‘I always wanted to believe that he’d fucked off to Ireland.  He’s got dual citizenship—and there’ve been civil partnerships there since 2010.  Sorry.  Verging on self-pity again.  Um.  Most of what I meant by telling you this is that I get some variation of missing someone like you’re anticipating missing Shitty.  And, well.  Two things.  One: missing him while he’s still here is kinda dumb even though the feeling’s entirely legit—it’s still preventable.  Two: if he vanishes—and he won’t—then it’s not like it’ll be hard to track him down.  We’ll just go to Harvard and ask to be directed to the naked law student please.’

Nursey snorted.

‘I’ll need a chaperone to pull off that stunt.’

‘If you want me to do that, you’ll still have to do the talking: your Andover voice’d get us a helluva lot farther than my accent.’

‘We should do this anyway.  Get Chowder to film it.  See how long it takes to get tossed out on our ear.’

‘I mean.  I’m not keen to get a record.  Table that possibility until next year, yeah?’

‘You’d consider it?  William, I am shook.’

Dex declined to respond—Nursey couldn’t see him, but assumed he was rolling his eyes or shaking his head.  Tool noises emanated from behind the dryer.

‘That may be about as much as I can fix it right now.  Eventually I’ll have to disassemble the damn thing.’  He put his tools away and latched the box before glancing at Nursey.  ‘Did that help any, knowing that Shitty will probably never be beyond your reach?’

‘Hard to say?  Like, I wasn’t in the immediate throes of worrying about it today, but that line of thinking would probably blunt the edges of it if it crops back up.  I appreciate you trying, anyway.’

‘We’re friends—I gotta earn my keep.’

That was a loaded statement if ever there was one.  But Dex offered it like it were a fact of the world, as he checked various bits of the structure of the basement.

‘I dunno, dude—Lardo’s the only one who’s noticed, really, but we outright talked about it.  Chowder’s noticed something, but he really seems to prefer the application of hugs to trying to pry things out of me unless it’s an obvious problem.  Or, like, one between us.’

‘Chowder’s very much a provide-comfort-and-let-you-solve-your-own-messes guy unless you’re asking for help or affecting him.’

‘NURSEY I NEED YOU TO COME LOOK AT MY HAIR!  WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU GO, BRAH?’

Dex leveled a smirk at Nursey before turning to go back upstairs.

‘Yeah, I think you’re stuck with that.  Best go see what he wants before he just gets louder.  Also, you probably still need to offer Shitty’s hair to Chowder.’

* * *

Nurse was working on his French homework between practice and dinner, silently debating the merits of skipping out on team dinner so he could just shovel food into his face and be done with it.  Dessa’s bitter, lyrical voice filled his room with anger, loss, and rhythm.  Life was settling into a tentative routine, even though he didn’t like most of the people at Andover, he was beginning to find a few who were alright.  Work and hockey were work and hockey, and he could handle both of those.  Survival looked plausible.

The door to his room, unlocked because locking dorm rooms with people inside wasn’t allowed, banged open.

‘Nurse!  Looking forward to break?’  Shitty plonked himself down on Nurse’s bed and promptly starfished.  Nurse was pleased, looking over, to see he had pants on.  Sweats.  He didn’t always.  Somehow— _because he’s really, really white_ , his internal monologue supplied—he got away with it.

‘Good afternoon, Shitty.  Welcome to my room.  How are you?’  He turned the page of his French homework.

‘Hiya!’  Shitty offered him an unrepentant grin.  ‘So.  Break?  What’re you doing?  Back to the City with you?  What’s your family do for—uh, the holidays?’

‘Yeah, back to the City with me.  Dunno if my folks’ll be around this year.  Christmas isn’t really a family thing,’ he hedged, not sure it was worth getting into the whole religious genealogy.  ‘Mom mentioned some manner of trip to Europe, but it was phrased like it was being planned without regard to the time we gotta stay back for hockey.’ 

Nurse shrugged casually, as if projecting being accustomed to it made it either normal or alright. 

‘If they are, then there’ll be some variation on the full spread, if just to have the dinner, with some of my dad’s coworkers there to see it.  Duck, maybe, or game hens or something, maybe.  Not turkey, cuz my dad hates it.’  Nurse turned the page in his textbook, skimming over the parts of the subjonctif he already understood.

‘Wait wait wait wait wait what.  You’re going back to the City to, what, friends, at least?  You got a fucking au pair waiting for you?’

Jeannie had been dismissed once he left for Andover.  Nurse’d only been told in October, when he had asked to say hi to her on a call home.  His mother hadn’t sounded thrilled about it, so it likely hadn’t been her idea.

‘Nah.  Just… going home.’

‘That’s dumb.’

‘I mean, we don’t really celebrate, so—’

Shitty apparated a phone out of somewhere—presumably a pocket, although it wasn’t clear if his sweats had them?—and started dialing.

‘Hold that thought, I gotta make a call, Nurse.’

‘Yo, mater.’  Latin, really?  ‘Got a question for you, if now’s a good time?’

Nurse leaned back in his desk chair, settling in to listen to half a phone call while his face-to-face with Shitty was on hold.

‘So.  I have a friend—yes, I know.  It’s shocking news to me, too.  Hah.  Anyway, he’s on the hockey team with me.  Yes, he’s a frosh.  _Mom_ , noooo.  Really, though—stop a sec, he’s here waiting for me to respond to him and I’m calling to ask you if he can come for.  Yes.  O—okay.’

Shitty proffered his phone to Nurse.  ‘S’for you.’

‘Um.  Hello, Mrs. Knight?’

‘Good try, kid but wrong on both counts.  If you want to be formal, it’s Dr. Sullivan.  Otherwise, call me Sharon.’

‘Sorry.  Dr. Sullivan.’

‘Not a problem—you guessed based on my son’s name.  B. is misleading in that department, and you couldn’t have known.  Now, B. mentioned that he was in the process of inviting you into Boston for what I assume to be the parts of winter break that don’t involve hockey.  Is that something that you might actually be interested in, or is it something B. has decided should happen?’

‘Um.  He was on the phone to you within half a sentence of almost suggesting the idea, so—both.’

‘Also, before I get too far ahead of myself, what’s your name?  B. just mentioned you were a freshman on the team and not much else.’

‘Derek, ma’am.  Nurse.  The team just calls me Nurse.’

‘No ma’am, please.  I’m not old enough for that.  You got a preference between those names?  I refuse to call my son by his team name, and he hates the name his father gave him, but we worked out a compromise.’

‘I’ll respond to either.  Not many people call me Derek these days.’

‘Let’s go with that, then, Derek.  Would you be interested in coming in toward Boston for a few days of break?  I’m not big on Christmas, but we’ll at least have breakfast.  Do you have any important traditions—or dietary restrictions?  Allergies?’

‘No to all of those,’ Nurse said, thinking to his father fasting during summers and autumns past, ‘nothing to complicate your family plans, Dr. Sullivan.’

‘You’re not a complication, Derek—just a guest.  If you’d like to be.  Anyway, hand me back to my son, if you would.  It was good to meet you, and I look forward to doing so in person.’

Nurse tossed Shitty his phone, who fumbled it, lost it in the blankets, rooted around to find it, and held it up with a shout of triumph before actually returning to his conversation with his mother.

‘Yes.  _Yes_ , mater.  You seem to have already asked him so— _okay_.  I get it.  Yes.  Does this mean we don’t have to visit Dad?  Oh hot damn.  Love you, too.  Talk to you later.’  Upon hanging up, Shitty vanished the phone back whence it had come.

‘You call your mom Mom, but in Latin?’

‘Yeah, brah.  She never liked mama and only tolerates mom.  So when I started taking Latin, I called her that once as a joke and she thought it was great.  Had the additional benefit of confusing my dad, at least briefly.  So.  Yeah.  You wanna come in to Boston for the non-hockey parts of break?  We’d love to have you—and I can speak for my mom on this.’

‘Sure—that’d be chill.’

Shitty levitated off Nurse’s bed and nearly tackled him in a hug.

* * *

William could feel them coming, sometimes.  He’d know one was there, waiting, that catastrophe was inevitable.  So he got a feel for when to prepare, as if for a storm—get supplies, get to shelter.  Brace for impact.  It wasn’t like he was psychic or precognitive or anything like that: he was just always on edge.  Sensitive to the alignments of stressors and the confluence of problems.

William felt it, then, at the table with the hockey team, hoping that the wash of conversation with soothe the tension in his—shit, easier to catalogue where the tension wasn’t.  He had two tests in the next week, a science project due, and four shifts at Jim’s shop between then and when it would all settle back down.  Team bickering could have helped; team prank-planning, not so much.

The upperclassmen huddled together, a conspiracy of douches.  Even as he sat down with them at the lunch table, William knew it was a mistake.  They—well, Joel and Steve and Drew—were talking about the best ways to intimidate underclassmen.  Ted stayed quiet, but didn’t appear to take offense at it (to be fair, Ted was new to the school and team, both, and seemed desperate to find his footing).  

Joel pointed out some kid across the cafeteria—a skinny, black-haired kid eating alone, a sophomore at the oldest—started talking about which of them could get the kid to cough up his lunch money the fastest.  When a betting pool started, William leaned in to the conversation to growl out that they really should consider not fucking doing that.  A small part of his mind took note of the fight or flight reflexes kicking in.

This was a bad time and place for a fight.  Particularly a fight he wouldn’t win.

When asked what the fuck he planned to do about it, William responded with several names.  Nate (whose eye he’d blackened in a hallway when there had been no one around; Nate hadn’t reported who had punched him).  Jenna (he’d argued with her loudly enough about her picking on kids that they’d both gotten into trouble, but Jenna had been noticed as a troublemaker as a result).  Seamus (William hadn’t done anything there, but the bastard had been expelled and his family had moved and none of the hockey team had been friends with him, to William’s knowledge).

As the tense silence stretched, William’s mind was whirring with all the ways in which he was fucking up.  He was lying, which was bad.  He was bluffing, which was probably dumb.  He was trying to strong-arm a pack of bullies—did that make him any better than them, really?  How solid was his moral high ground?  How bad would it be if they called his bluff?

The moment snapped when Drew mentioned it wasn’t worth jeopardizing his college applications for that shit.  Grumbling ensued.  William scarfed down his burger, even though he felt like puking.  Take food where you can get it.

When he noticed his hands were shaking, he left quickly.

A gap in his awareness later, William was in Mrs. Donovan’s office.  She had taken one look at him and closed the door once he was in her office.  He apologized for interrupting her lunch.  He was breathing quickly.  Couldn’t seem to slow it down.  With minimal prompting as to what was obviously wrong—William spilled out the entire story of lunch.  He finished all in a rush as he finally lost control over his breath under a cascade of intrusive thoughts.

William returned to himself after an indeterminate duration.  Mrs. Donovan was counting how long to breathe—in, hold, out, very good William now again, if you would.  Once he got his breath back, she spent a bit of time just chatting at him like he’d asked what was new with her.  Arthur, it turned out, was one of Mrs. Donovan’s advisees.  Mrs. Donovan was quite pleased to know that someone had been looking out for him.  William was welcome to hide out in her office or, if she was busy, in the back room of the library any time he needed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo compressing what's suggested to be multiple weeks in one strip into, like, a couple days.


	9. Chapter 9

‘You have?  That’s great.  Thank you so much for your generosity in fulfilling your pledge.  Now, before I let you go, do you have any questions for me?’

Dex hated working the phones. 

‘Well, I’m a freshman, so I’m not entirely sure what my major’s going to be, but... if I had to pick today, it would probably be computer science.’

Dex was very glad he’d been given a script—and a student-written FAQ on common (awkward) questions from alums.

‘Yeah, it’s both interesting and useful.  Hockey’s not really a long-term career plan, so I have to have something figured out to do once I graduate.  Anything else?  Thank you again just so much for your time and generosity, Mr. Olendzki.  You have a good afternoon, too.’

Dex hung up from the last call on his list.  The rest of his shift in Alumni Relations would consist of administrivia and bookkeeping about his calls—pledges, promises that checks had been sent, one alum requesting not to be contacted until he’d paid off his loans (dude was polite all through, at least.  He’d given no cause to open _that_ can of worms).  Dex took a moment in the task transition to check his phone—he’d asked Chowder earlier if he’d be willing to take notes at the Data Structures study group happening… now.

 

 **Christopher Chow:** Of course I’ll take notes for you!  We can talk about stuff later, too, if you want.  
**Me:** Thanks, Chowder.  
**Christopher Chow:** Texting at work!?!?!?!  Bitty would be so proud.  
**Me:** [fire emoji] I’ve finished up all my calls, and have a moment before I need to start my end-of-shift stuff.  Plus, it’s about schoolwork, which Jeanette won’t care about.  How’s the study group?  
**Christopher Chow:** Just getting started.  Still missing 2.  Meet for lunch after you’re outta work?  
**Me:** Sounds good. 

**Louis Agarwal:** Still on for studying tonight?  My shift in Founders finishes at 8.  We could order pizza delivery to the patio around the corner from the entrance—the one with the blackboard?  I can reserve us a study room for ~8:30?

There was no need to blush.  Louis was asking about studying.  Pizza outside the library was _not_ a date.  He was still pretty sure Louis kept hitting on him, but he really wasn’t gonna test that theory.  Goddammit, why was he blushing.

 **Me:** Yeah.  That all sounds like a great plan.  You want me to call the order in, since I won’t be working then?  
**Louis Agarwal:** Nah, I got it.  You can get the next one.  [smirk emoji] 

‘Working hardly, Poindexter?’

Jeannette, Dex’s supervisor, raised her eyebrows at Dex when he snapped his head up.  She was a recent grad, only a couple years out, and therefore dressed more formally than some of the higher-ups did.  She leaned on the doorframe in the entryway to the room—probably a bedroom when this office had been a house—Dex was working in.  While she wasn’t an imposing figure, she _was_ his boss.

‘Oh.  Uh.  Sorry, Jeannette.  Was scheduling a study group.  I’ve already finished all my calls.  Was gonna start in on the data entry once I was done.’

‘Sounds good.  How are your finals going?’

‘Tomorrow’s the last dead day.  I’ve got three finals, one project, and one bigass paper.  Spanish and Data Structures are the two I’m not entirely confident on.  The others should be at least alright.  Paper’s mostly done.’

‘Glad to hear it.  Now get back to work.’

Dex snorted as she left; her laughter carried up the stairs.  He returned to his text with Louis, debating what he meant and what was happening and generally everything.

 **Me:** Sure.  
**Louis Agarwal:** Great!  See you tonight. 

The last half hour of his shift went quickly, and Dex succeeded at ignoring his phone.  Once he was done, he clocked out and let Jeannette know he was out for the day.  By the time he arrived at the dining hall and got his food, Nursey and Chowder were already there, chatting about—stroke order?  Oh.  Chinese.  Right.  They’d saved him the seat with the wall to its back, so he took it.

‘Hey, Poindexter.  We saved you a seat.’

‘Sup Nursey.  Thanks.  Chowder—how was the study group?’

‘Hey Dex.  It was good!  We went over lists and arrays and vectors a bunch.  Talked through a couple of the variations on the maze navigation problem that McCray guaranteed would be on the final.  I took a bunch of notes on the different maze-solving algorithms he gave us, and how to set up stacks or queues appropriate for them.’

‘You’re amazing, Chowder.  Thanks so much.’

‘Sure—d’you have a study group you’ll be working with?  Most of the guys there today seemed like this was the only one they’d do in a group.’

‘Yeah, I’m meeting up with Louis once he’s done with his shift at Founders.’

‘Oh?  I didn’t know you knew him at all.’  Chowder was learning Farmer's eyebrow game, and that was _not_ a good sign.

‘Yeah—ran into him.  No.  He ran into me at Spring C.  Bodily.  We've hung out once or twice since, and he mentioned he couldn’t go to today’s study session either, so we figured a time we could work together on stuff.’

‘Good plan.  I am _noooot_ looking forward to this one.’

‘Hard same.  How’re yours looking, Nursey?’

‘Eh.  Coupla papers.  Mandarin’s gonna be a _thing_ , but that’s what the tile walls in Olin are for.  The thing I’m nervous for is the reading I’ve got to do as my performance piece for my contemporary poetry class.’

‘That sounds hella nerve-wracking, Nursey.  What’re you doing for it?’

Nursey shrugged, as if he hadn’t thoroughly considered it.

‘Something I’ve been working on this term.  Don’t think I’ve showed it to you.’

Dex felt a moment’s envy that Chowder got to see Nursey’s poetry before stifling the feeling.  Nursey didn’t owe him that, and probably didn’t think he’d be interested in it.  And he had shown Dex some poetry.

‘D’you need a practice audience?’  Dex asked.

For just a moment, Nursey’s eyes flashed a dark, surprised green, before a veneer of composure slid across his face.

‘Nah.  Thanks, though.  I mean, if the petting zoo were still here, I might go read to the lambs or something.’

‘Now I wanna go back and race the piglets again.  They were so cute!’

‘Yeah, Dexy, you totally shoulda joined us for that.’

Dex shrugged.

‘I had work to do.’

‘And we respect your work ethic.’

Dex inspected Nursey, as if his face would reveal the barbs in his comment.  It wasn’t quite fair, and neither was blaming it on his nerves _all_ being out to fuck with him today.  Nursey just raised an eyebrow at him and let it sit as Dex dropped his eyes back to his plate. 

They ate in silence for a few minutes before Chowder’s phone chimed.  He checked it, and snorted.  Showed it first to Nursey and then to Dex—a series of dumb Left Shark memes Farmer had sent him.  They lost him to his phone for a bit, but the silence had shifted toward something more comfortable.  Then Dex’s phone pinged.

 **Jack Zimmermann:** Dex, do you have a minute?  I could you use your help with that thing we talked about.  In an hour, maybe?  
**Me:** Sure.  At the Haus?  
**Jack Zimmermann:** No.  I’ll text you the address in a moment.  It’s about four blocks from the Haus.  Johnson mentioned it would be a good place for overnight storage. 

‘Jack Zimmermann is hopeless.  Or else he thinks that Bitty’s liable to read my texts.’

‘Oh?’

‘Is this about the—’ Nursey clapped a hand over Chowder’s mouth, in case Bitty were lurking nearby or something.  He snorted, presumably because Chowder licked his hand or something.  Nursey wiped it on Chowder’s shoulder.

‘That’s behavior I’d expect of me, Chowder.  Not you.’

‘You don’t have a lock on immaturity, Nursey.’

Dex covered up his laugh by shoving the last bite of burger into his face.

‘That’s very true.  After all, Holster is a person who exists in the world.’

‘Oh god, true.  He burnt something on Bitty’s procrastibaking, like, _daily_ during dead days last term.  It was… impressive?’

‘I don’t think that’s the right word, Dex.’

Nursey stole some of Chowder’s fries; Chowder ineffectually swatted at him.

‘Right.  The other thing.  Anyway, Jack wants me to meet him in some house a couple blocks from the Haus.’

‘Wait, Johnson as in last year’s senior goalie?’

‘I assume so?’

‘Why would he know about the surprise?’ 

‘Shitty has told me for years now that Johnson was weird even for a goalie.  To just—’ he paused long enough to shift conversational tack, Dex suspected, ‘just _go with the flow_ , Nursey.  Whatever he tells you, just go with it.’  Nursey finished in an approximation of Shitty’s accent.

Chowder looked at Nursey, like he was weighing his options.

‘I don’t think Shitty would issue those instructions with you, Chowder.  Sorry, bro.’

‘Awwwwwww.’

‘Just gotta work on your goalie mystique.’

Chowder’s phone buzzed again.

‘Oooooh.  Farmer’s bored and wants distractions.’ Nursey coughed.  Pointedly.  ‘She says to bring people over for board games.’

‘I’d be down.’

‘I would, but our captain apparently needs my assistance.’

‘Go be handsy, Dexy.’

Chowder laughed, and Dex rolled his eyes and blushed—as expected.  They ditched their trays on the conveyer belt near the exit and headed their separate ways.  Dex occupied himself with the walk from Lake Quad to the Haus by wondering at the call-and-response of his friendship with Nursey, and how much of it was a negotiation (and how much of it was the _result_ of negotiation). 

And what would happen if the dynamic were upended.

 **Jack Zimmermann:** I’ll meet you at the house—it’s 298 E. Bristol.  Green house with grey trim.  
**Me:** See you there.

The house was, indeed, pretty close to the river and to the Haus.  In a direction that led only to more of residential Samwell, so students only rarely went that way.  Jack was there already—with Shitty, a large and obviously labeled box, and a thick stack of forms.

‘Yo, Dexy.  Good you could make it, brah.  They made us sign our lives away and promise that we had someone competent to install this baby.  So we’re counting on you to not kill us all, if that’s good?’

‘Uh, sure, Shitty.’

‘What he means, I’m sure, is thanks for all your help, Dex.  We really appreciate it.’

Dex shrugged.

‘It’s my contribution to Bitty’s birthday.’

‘Yeah, but we appreciate you and your beautifully competent hands, brah.’

‘To paraphrase Shitty,’ Jack’s mouth twitched in a betrayal of his deadpan voice ‘let us love you.’

Which, what.  Dex snorted.  Shitty cackled and assaulted Dex in a hug that barreled into Jack.  Jack had clearly seen it coming and braced for the impact.  Dex didn't terribly mind being squished.

‘Anyway, help us haul this into the garage.  Dr. Teague apparently knows Johnson’s aunt or something, and so we’ve got permission to store this here overnight.’  Jack shrugged in the face of the obvious mystery of how Johnson knew and spontaneously volunteered his help and connections.  ‘We’ll come back with Holster’s jeep tomorrow to get it.  Do you think that the morning would be enough time?’

‘More than enough, yeah.  You have plans to keep Bitty out of the Haus tomorrow morning?’

‘Yeah.  All through lunch, I’m pretty sure.’

‘So if I rolled in around 9:30 that would be more than enough time to not only get it installed and then get the kitchen clean enough for the inevitable baking that will happen once Bitty stops crying happy tears.’

The three of them carried the boxed oven into the garage.  They tucked it to one side, making sure to keep it away from the sedan and the hanging bike.  They pulled the door closed as they left to head back to the Haus.

Bitty was in the kitchen, running French flashcards and looking mournfully at Betsy.  He brightened when Dex and the seniors walked in.  Any distraction was a welcome distraction in the face of French, apparently.

‘Hey boys.  Where’re you coming from?’

Jack stilled, and Dex recognized a kindred instinct to bolt.  Jack clearly had no prepared lie to offer, and the truth would spoil many things.  Shitty gently shoved him to the side.

‘I was dragging Jack around campus, trying to get him to take pictures with my phone, since I ambushed him and he didn’t have his camera with him.  As I’m sure will surprise you, my itty bitty bro, he wasn’t terribly cooperative, so I eventually had to give up.  We ran into Dex on our way back.’

Bitty laughed and seemed to buy it.  Dex found himself impressed by Shitty’s ability with bullshitting.  Bitty hadn't even bristled at the invocation of his height.

‘I’d offer you pie, but—if I’m gonna bake, I’d need to go to the student kitchens, and even I realize that’s too far to take procrastination.’

‘Although I’m sure it pains you to admit that.  If you want, I’ll run you through your flashcards if you’ll run me through mine?  That way you can at least have a break from studying proper?’

‘Sounds good, Dex.  What finals do you two have left?  Has senioritis claimed you completely, Shitty?’

‘Can’t let it swallow me whole, alas—Harvard unaccepts people who let their grades go to shit in their last term.’  Shitty flung himself into a chair—which creaked ominously as he did—and posed dramatically with his wrist on his forehead.

‘I don’t really care about my grades for my classes, but I really like the material?’

‘We know _you_ are immune to senioritis, Jack.  That’s why I just asked Shitty.  How’re your finals, Dex?’

‘Data structures may be the end of me, but Chowder got me the notes on the study session I had to miss because of work.  One group project, which we've already turned in.  one paper this term, and I’m basically done with it—and then three exams and an oral exam in Spanish.  Which.  I don’t know that I’ll be able to talk with any reasonable speed and get the accent even close to right, given where I’m starting from.’

‘Well, since you need to work, and I’m out of procrastination aids, let’s go run those flashcards, kay?’

‘Yours first, or mine?’

‘Dex.  William.  Really?  Of _course_ yours.’

What turned out to be a surprisingly productive couple hours later, their butchering of accents was interrupted by the thunder of hockey player feet descending from the attic.  Well, the thunder of Holster feet.  Ransom followed rather slower, judging by the creaking.  Everything in the Haus needed an inspection.  Most of it needed fixing or replacing or a warning sign.  Probably two of those three.

Holster charged into the kitchen and made directly for the fridge, apparently too focused on food to greet the pair at the table or otherwise engage in small talk. 

‘Holtzy, there’s not gonna be any leftovers, because the oven hasn’t worked for days.  No forage to be had, bro.  Hey, Bitty.  Dex.’

‘Sup.’

Unfazed—or just that desperate—Holster kept shifting through the fridge.

‘Hey.  Ransom’s right, Adam.  If you want to avoid the dining halls tonight, you’re gonna hafta order takeout.’

‘We don’t even have ramen?’

‘You boys _know_ I don’t stand for that in my kitchen.’

Holster wilted.

‘Study break until pizza gets here, Rans?’

‘I can afford’ he checked his watch ‘another forty-eight minutes before I have to get back to immunology.’

‘Sweet.  I’m gonna bring my laptop down and hook it up to the TV.  My sister just sent me a Steam key for Mount Your Friends.’

Bitty snorted.

‘She sent you a what for what now?’

Dex started packing up.

‘Come on, Bits!  You need to experience this.  It’s not nearly as dirty as it sounds.  Well, the game isn’t.  If the jokes aren’t, then we’re doing it wrong.’

‘I think I’m gonna head to the dining hall before it closes.’

A chorus of ‘Later, Dex!’ trailed him out the door.

He did not, in fact, go to the dining hall. 

Instead, Dex went back to Olin and showered, even though his study session with Louis was totally not a date.  Dex was still nervous as if it were.  He put on his appear-like-I’m-attempting-to-get-laid kegster outfit and decided that was a poor life decision.  Changed back into his usual jeans and open flannel over an undershirt.  Killed half an hour by killing pixels.  It was not very effective.

Called his sister.

‘To what do I owe the pleasure, William?’

‘I need you to talk for a bit, Kells.  Just, like, update me on things.’

Dex was focusing on keeping his breathing calm and even; he knew Kelly had picked up on it.

‘You’d tell me if you weren’t okay, right?’

‘Always.  This isn’t that—.  Well.  Isn’t that scale.  I’m fine.  Just.  Nervous.  Um.’

‘Oh?  Wanna talk about it?’

‘No.  Please?’

‘Sure.  I’ll drag it out of you later.  After, if things go well.  I hope things go well.  Whatever things might be.  Is it—no, that’s not fair.  Anyway.  Andy and I are thinking of living together this summer.  I’m lining up a job that’ll keep me in rent and food, at least, for summer and a bit after.’

‘So you won’t be home at all over the summer?’

‘Oh you’re not rid of me so easily as that, my littlest younger brother.’

‘Only younger brother.’

‘So teeeeeeeny.’

‘Taller than you.’

‘Yes, well.  Doesn’t change the definitional truths we’re working with here.’

Dex snorted.  ‘It’s a neat trick, that: defining your way into winning.  You should consider switching your major to philosophy.’

‘Oh god.  Can you _imagine_ how James would react?’

‘Two parts defensive anger per one part confused?  Sixteen parts confused to one part envy?  He’d go ballistic faster than Dad would.’

‘God, it might almost be worth it.’

‘Yeah, but I might feel a bit bad provoking an aneurysm.  Even, momentarily, for doing so to James.’

‘That makes you better’n me, Billiam.  Anyway, you’re laughing and arguing.  Anything else I can do for you, or are you set for now?’

‘Set, thanks.  Should probably get going pretty soon, but I’ll call you later.  I know your price is details.’

‘You know it.  Now go do your thing, ya dink.  I’mma go help Andy finish supper.’

‘Love ya, Kells, and—thanks.’

‘Love you too, William.’

Dex smoothed down his shirt—as if that would change anything—and checked the time.   8:15.  Time to get going.  He hoisted his bag and set out toward the library.  The sun had set, but it was still fairly bright out.  Dex walked North along the Pond until a path split off toward some of the academic buildings and the river.  He veered between the two and set off across South Quad.  People were lounging about—reading, mostly, or sitting in groups hanging out; a few people were playing frisbee.  One small group had strung a slackline between a pair of trees and were taking turns not quite making it across.

Focusing on his route and on people-watching helped distract Dex from the swirls of is-it-a-date-no-it’s-not-a-date stewing in his brain.

Dex passed between Kotter and Leighton, rounding the corner of Leighton to traverse between it and Founders.  The chalkboards Louis had suggested they meet at were around the back of the library, facing the river.  Conveniently near a bridge for ease of pizza delivery.

As he stepped through the trees softening the visual edge of the far corner of Founders, Dex caught sight of Louis.  He was transcribing a flowchart—no, a binary tree—onto the chalkboard.  He wore jeans and a black and maroon baseball shirt with the sleeves pushed up his forearms.  Put together, but probably none of it intended to show himself off?

 _Remember_ , he told himself.  _This is not a date_.

Dex made sure he scuffed his shoes a bit once he was back on pavement.  He tried to hit a midpoint between making some noise putting his bag down on the table and, like, thumping it as an announcement.  He succeeded, at least to the degree that Louis noticed without apparently startling.

‘Hey, Dex!’

‘Hey.  How was your shift?’

‘Good.  No one from your team was there, so the disturbances were minimal.’

Louis smirked, and it was frustratingly (flusteringly) attractive.

‘ _Surely_ there are other teams who are more frustrating to deal with.’

‘Honestly?  Not really.  At least not on a collective level.  That big blond bro you guys have is _loud_.  And, like, awkwardly protective of the black guy he’s always with?  Are they together?’

‘Um.  No?  Or, if they are, they’ve never said anything about it to any of us that I’m aware of.  I’m only aware of two guys on the team who’re out.’ 

Louis looked speculative.

‘ _That_ is a very precisely worded answer.’

‘True.’

Dex was saved from that line of discussion by the arrival of pizza.  The delivery guy pulled over just after the bridge and walked tentatively through the trees, grumbling audibly.  Louis walked toward him and took out his wallet to pay.  The guy balked a moment, and Louis stiffened in response.  The exchange of cash for pizza seemed like a hostage negotiation, from Louis’s body language.  Dex was unsure whether he should intervene—or, if he should, how to do so without making things worse.  When Louis turned around, though, he was smiling, so Dex hoped that whatever the fuck that was had resolved itself.

‘Let’s dig in, yeah?  I wasn’t sure what you like on your pizza so I got it half cheese for me, half pepperoni for you.  If you want a slice of cheese, you can steal one.’ 

‘Yeah.  Thanks, again, for getting this—you didn’t have to.’

‘I called this study group to order, so…’ Louis shrugged.

‘Still,’ Dex replied, suddenly awkward ‘I appreciate it.’

‘Yeah.  Well, you’ll get the next one.  We agreed on that already.’

Louis tore the top of the pizza box off and handed it to Dex to use as a plate.  It was a local pizza place—apparently Greek, which Dex was unsure how it applied to pizza—but not one Dex had personally tried.  He took a couple slices and sat on top of the picnic table, looking at the tree Louis had constructed.  They ate quietly for the first slice—it was delicious and greasy, with the really good little pepperoni.

‘What’s the deal there?’ Dex indicated the chalkboard with a nod.

‘Manually building out a tree structure for the sample maze McCray had up on Blackboard.  This one doesn’t have any tricks to it—see how each branch has an end-node—so any of the algorithms we talked about work.  It was mostly a dumb way to pass the time.’

‘I mean, if it helps you understand it, then…’

Louis shrugged.

‘I mostly have the maze solving down.  That’s mostly a matter of figuring out stacks or queues, depending on the algorithm, and setting it up all properly.’

‘What d’you feel you need to work on, then?’

‘The whole Big O thing, mostly.’

Dex snorted—nearly got pizza up his nose.

‘Yeah, I know.  Any joke you’re thinking is probably better than one I’d be able to make now, so let’s you just go with that.’

Dex laughed.

‘Sure.’

Louis raised an eyebrow.

‘Not gonna share your thoughts on my issues with—’

‘Nooooooope.  Particularly not if you’re gonna phrase it like that.’

_Do not blush do not blush do not, awwww fuck._

‘Worth a try.’

‘It’s just math, though.’

‘ _Just_ , yes.  Well.  When we’re done with pizza, we’re going inside to the study room I reserved and you’re going to hold my hand through that math.’

Dex nodded, and finished his second slice.  He snagged a third off Louis’s “plate” and leaned back on his bag to eat it.  The light was starting to fade.  There were a few lightning bugs out, blinking lazily.  He glanced over to Louis, who was busily finishing his last slice, but took care to not let himself linger while they weren’t talking.  When he finished his third slice, he wiped his hands off on the rag he kept in his backpack.

Dex risked another glance—Louis was staring at Dex’s hands.

‘You carry a rag with you?  Not, like, a sweat towel or whatever for runs?’

‘Yeah—I end up getting asked to fix shit a lot, and mechanical things are often greasy.  Tools aren’t always required, so it’s better to keep a rag in my backpack than with my toolbox.’

Louis nodded.  Offered Dex the last slice.

‘I’m all set.’

They picked up their bags—Louis’s had several patches affixed to his messenger bag, as well as a little rainbow lanyard on one of the zippers—and headed into Founders.  Louis set the half-box with the last slice of pizza on a table more or less dedicated to that sort of purpose in the airlock room that separated the library proper from the outdoors.  Louis led them down a set of wide stairs and through an aisle of rolling bookshelves to one of the more remote study rooms.

‘I believe I demanded some math.’  Louis waggled his eyebrows.

Dex rolled his in return, because a response was clearly expected, and _just_ blushing was not an option.

‘Yeah, lemme set my laptop up and we can go through them.  At least for the basic algorithms we were taught—breadth-first search, Dijkstra’s Algorithm, sorting algorithms, whatever—all have set complexity values.’

They worked through some examples—starting with running through Dex’s flashcards of the various algorithms they’d learned in class.  They moved on to evaluating some of their problem set solutions before focusing down on the maze-running programs.  Dex made a conscious effort to start at the wall when he was thinking, rather than at Louis, who spent much of the study session bouncing his knee under the table.

‘So, if he’s gonna be a dick on the final and grade us on efficiency and scaling, we should figure out the approximate size of maze at which the different algorithms become more efficient, yeah?’

‘Yeah, but we’d have to factor into that complexity the time it’d take to figure out the maze’s size unless he just gave it to us.’

Louis cocked his head—he had no particular qualms about staring at Dex when he was thinking—and nodded, like he was coming to a conclusion.

‘Makes sense.  What about you?  What do you think you need to work on?’

‘Actually implementing the stacks and queues properly for the different kinds of mazes.’

‘Ah—yeah.  Bio break, and then we can work on that when we get back?’

‘Sure.’

They left the study room and separated.  Dex went to the bathroom, got a drink from the water fountain, and returned to the study room.  He checked his phone while he waited.  Nothing on the group chat, but he did have a couple texts from Kelly.

 **Kells:** Remember, cunning brother mine, to breathe.  
**Kells:** Whatever it is that’s got you nervous, you got this.  
**Kells:** And no matter how well it does or doesn’t go, you still owe me details.  Even if it’s information properly to be used to comfort. 

Dex was still staring at his phone, sure he was blushing and unsure how to respond, when Louis got back.

‘Something good on your phone?’  Louis quirked an eyebrow, his apparently perennial smirk in place.

‘Eh.  Just my sister giving me shit about some stuff from earlier today.’

Louis nodded as he settled back in with his laptop.  He beckoned Dex over, so they could work side by side.  Once Dex was close, he pulled up his pseudocode for mazes and stacks.  They went over how to determine whether the starting spot was on an edge of the maze, ways to mark rooms and/or intersections and/or paths and the benefits to each approach, and how to actually code stacks and algorithms to accomplish these things. 

After a while, they started running out of steam—surreptitiously checking the clock on his laptop, Dex was surprised to discover it was nearly eleven.  He zoned out, trying to figure out where the time had gone.  He startled when Louis poked him in the side.

‘You with me?’

‘Uh, yeah.  Sorry.’

‘Tired?’

‘Most of the time.’

‘Finals are exhausting.  You’ve got a workstudy, too, right?’

‘Yeah, at alumni relations.  You?’

‘Telecom.’  Louis cleared his throat and said, in an impeccable NPR-accent that merely shifted his usual speaking voice up a bit in socioeconomics, ‘Samwell University, how may I direct your call?’

Dex laughed.  ‘Christ, I wouldn’t be able to sustain that even for a single shift.’

‘Nah, it’s not so bad.  People are pretty polite, especially since they don’t know of other ways to get to where they’re calling.  One alum once told me I had a voice for radio.’  He paused, and Dex looked up to see Louis watching him.  Nervously?  ‘So, earlier you said that you were only aware of two guys on your team who were out, which you agreed was very specific phrasing.’

‘…yes?’

‘You, uh, wouldn’t happen to be one of those two, would you?’

Dex froze.  One part of his brain was mostly screaming over the other part, which was offering him options like run away or come out or lie like hell.  And then there was the tiny voice that sounded suspiciously like Ryan reminding him to breathe.  Oh right—that.

‘…get coffee, but now you’re kinda freaking out—are you okay?’

‘I’m, um, not?’

Dex could feel the spread of his blush out from his cheeks.

‘Shit.  What do you need me to do?’

‘No, uh.  I’m not one of the guys on the team that’s out.  Give me a minute and I’ll be fine.  I think.  I—you’re the first person I’ve told aside from my sister.’

‘Oh.  Man, well.  Thanks.  So, is coffee a thing, maybe?’

‘Coffee?  Oh.  Sorry.  I was sorta wigging out there.  Obviously.’

‘It’s okay—I can ask again.  Would you wanna get coffee at some point?  Like, I know finals isn’t the best time, but—’

‘Yes.  After we survive this final, coffee sounds great.’  He was certain he was blushing under his shirt by this point, and hated it just a little.  He offered Louis a tiny, embarrassed smile.

‘You’re really cute when you blush.’  Louis continued smirking.

‘Just when I blush?  Good thing for you it’s unfortunately easy to accomplish.’

‘I’ve noticed.  And not just when you blush.  I think… that I’m out of fucks to give about studying tonight.  You feeling good on this?’

‘For most values of “this,” yeah.  We should probably wrap up.  Thanks for the study session.’

Dex started packing.

‘Clearly it was a _dreadful_ hardship, Dex.’

‘More or less awful than stumbling drunkenly into me at Spring C?’

Louis snorted.  ‘More.  It involved more studying and less cuddling.’

Dex grinned and rolled his eyes exaggeratedly as he got up to leave.  As he was about to leave the study room, he turned back to Louis and said ‘You’re wicked cute, too.’

Dex walked home in a bit of a blur of nerves and butterflies, weirdly pleased that he’d remembered to say cute instead of cunning.  He got back to Olin and more or less face-planted on his bed, passing out immediately.  He didn’t even consider texting Kells.

It hadn’t been a date.

 

Dex was up at his usual time the next morning.  He sent Bitty a birthday text first thing.  Went for a run.  Showered.  All with a residual—and slightly surreal—feeling.  He caught himself thinking, multiple times, ‘did that all happen?  Really?  Huh.’

No wonder Kelly kept telling him to come out, at least a little.

Bitty had sent him an emoji-laden response, along with a demand to know what Lardo was up to.  Dex responded that he had no idea what she was up to—and even if he did, he valued his bodily integrity too much to spill.  After stopping by the dining hall for the tail end of breakfast, he headed to the Haus.  Midway there, he had to double back to Olin—in his haste for breakfast, he’d forgotten his toolbox in his room.

Andrew was still asleep.  Snoring.

Jack, Shitty, Ransom, Holster, Ollie, and Wicks were all at the Haus, as was the new oven.  Everyone but Shitty was in some variation on shorts and t-shirts; Shitty was shirtless in some godawful cutoff shorts that might have started life as cargos.  They’d apparently decided to retrieve it from the Teagues' garage and unbox it in the kitchen, and were standing around the kitchen talking about what needed to be done in time for the celebrations.

Shitty clocked Dex coming in and had a large mug of coffee in hand to offer by the time he was within arm’s reach.  Dex nodded his thanks and took a drink.  Grunted greetings at the assembled others.

‘None of you need to use that fucking dryer, do you?’

No one did.

‘Good.  First thing I’m doing is shutting off the gas to the Haus.  I hope you’re you all comfortable with your level of showeredness.  Or unheated showers.  Otherwise, start fighting over the remaining hot water.’

‘Sure, Dex.  You need more coffee?’ Jack, at least, understood how he operated.

‘God yes.’

Dex went to the basement.  Once the main gas was off, he turned off the gas line directly to the stove.  Only then did he disconnect Betsy.  Ransom and Holster carried Betsy out of the Haus, and Jack and Wicks helped him move the new oven closer to the gap where it would go.

‘Need any other help?’

‘Not yet.  And certainly not more than one of you, so if someone needs to go to Shop & Shop to get baking supplies or whatever, don’t let this stop you.  If someone could refill my coffee and move it to the counter by the oven, there, I’d appreciate it.’

The coffee got filled and moved—by whom, Dex didn’t see—and he offered up thanks before continuing to work.  He wrapped the gas line in pipe tape and screwed on the connector, working methodically.  He repeated the process for each connection until he hooked the street elbow up to the new oven’s range port.  Once it was all connected up, he tightened the bolts and sprayed leak detector over the full of the work he’d just done.

He stood up to see that he had an audience of Jack, Shitty, and Ransom.

‘If I fucked it up, I’d advise being outside.  Pretty sure I didn’t, though.’

‘How would you know?’

‘Experience?  Following instructions properly?  Having the proper tools for the job?  Now, I’m gonna go turn the gas back on and then light one of these burners for a moment—long enough to clear the air from the pipes—and that’ll show if there are leaks.  If there aren’t, then we’re all set.  If not, then we’ll need to delay Bitty’s return while we run to a hardware store.’

Jack steered Shitty outside, while Ransom just looked on as if scientifically observing.  Maybe he was just stuck in that mindset, because finals.  Either way, Dex went down to the basement to turn the gas back on.  Ransom had refilled his coffee again by the time he’d gotten back upstairs.

‘Thanks, man.’

‘Sure thing.  You’re kinda the most important person in the Haus right now, for purposes of Bitty’s birthday.’

‘Yeah, cuz everyone else already threw money at the plan.  Gotta kick in my share.’

‘That’s so not what I meant, Dex.’

‘I—sorry.’

Dex turned on the burner.  It clicked and, since it was just air, hissed slightly without igniting.  He walked behind the oven and started inspecting the dried-on spray.  No bubbles—so far, so good.

‘We all know money’s an issue, but I really hope you don’t think we'd hold it against you.  Do you?’

‘Not most of the time.  Sometimes I feel like it’s forgotten in the least convenient sorts of ways?  Because of course everyone can afford to—well, whatever.’

‘In the future, if that happens, let me know.  Like a text or a nudge or whatever.  I can steer Holtzy away from at least some of that kind of shit, without even letting him know precisely what’s up.’

‘…okay.’

‘Good.  How’s the oven?’

‘No bubbles.  Means I don’t seem to have fucked up.’

The igniter kept clicking, and suddenly there was enough gas coming through the line that it caught.  Dex nodded to himself in satisfaction.  Walked around, turned off the burner.

‘We’re good.  Let’s get this back against the wall, and then get everything clean for the inevitable baking spree.’

‘Sure, bro.’

‘Also, thanks.  I appreciate it.’

‘Course, bro!  We’ve got your back—sometimes it just takes a moment to figure out how we have to have it.  Anyway, let’s get this thing moved so we can let Shitty know he doesn’t have to whip out further property law obscurities to deal with a burning-down Haus.’

Dex laughed.  They got the new oven back against the wall, and folks reassembled in the kitchen.

‘Holster and Wicks went to Murder Stop & Shop.  Jackabelle made sure to let them know to get maple syrup.  And apples.  Not that he’s angling for any pie in particular.’

Jack laughed and dragged Shitty into a headlock, prompting the mustached winger to squawk and flail about in an attempt to escape, while Jack laughed.

‘You’re always on about letting you love me, Shits.  So, _let me love you_.’ 

Ollie watched, leaning casually against the wall, open and friendly and quiet.  He and Dex nodded at each other—D-man solidarity or something—and waited for the rest of the team to show up.  Shitty’s phone chimed, and—still in a headlock—he pulled it from his pocket.  As he did, the phone chimed again with a different tone.  He wrapped an arm around Jack’s torso, possibly just because he could, and checked the text.

‘Brah, Nursey says he’s got Bitty’s phone and control of his twitter, and that he and Chowder are steering him roundaboutly back toward the Haus.  Lardo says she’s on her way back, and you should probably summon the rest of the team.’

Jack let Shitty loose to pull his own phone out.  He slowly sent a text.  Everyone in the kitchen’s pulled their pinging, chiming, or buzzing phones from various pockets.  Heads turned to their captain.  Holster snorted.

 **Jack Zimmermann:** Bitty’s birthday party is starting at the Haus when he gets here.  Everyone is encouraged to attend.  Thanks, Jack.

‘Jack, you sent it to all of us who are already here.  Did you just use the group chat?’

‘Should I not have?  It goes to everyone.  It was faster.’

‘Including Bitty.’

‘So he’ll chirp me about it later.  It’s fine.  I’m pretty sure he thinks I forgot his birthday.’

‘Was this a deliberate misimpression or just you being a zombie robot in the morning, Jack?’

‘At least one of those, Holster, my bro.  They’re not mutually exclusive.’

‘Bro.  _Bro_.’

They bumped fists.

Dex wandered out the front door and sat on the porch bench.  The team started filtering in before too long—regardless of its finesse, Jack’s summons had been effective.  He received a few nods and fistbumps as the guys assembled, but mostly he was left in peace.  His part in the birthday surprise was done.

‘Bitty one of your followers—at-windandstardust—says they hope you have a great birthday.’

‘Awww, tell them thank you so much!’

Dex looked up as Bitty, Chowder, and Nursey approached the Haus.  Nursey had Bitty’s phone, and used it to snap a picture of Bitty and Chowder.  Chowder was all sorts of bouncy—whether from excitement or still having to maintain secrecy, it was hard to tell.  Bitty waved at Dex as they walked up the steps.  Nursey offered Dex a hand, which Dex took as a handshake (because Reasons?  Hard to tell with Nursey), but it was a hand up, so he was hoisted, off balance, bodily into his defensive partner.  Chowder laughed, and Bitty tutted.

‘Don’t you drop my phone, Derek Nurse.’

They walked into the Haus.

‘K, y’all.  The whole team’s here, and I haven’t baked a thing.  It’s a surprise party.  I get it.  Aren’t you gonna yell surprise?’

No one did.  Dex preceded Bitty and the other Frogs into the kitchen where most of the team—as much of the team as would fit with room still for Bitty to come find his present—had gathered.  He sidled up to Ransom, who must have seen something odd in his expression, as he patted Dex on the shoulder.

‘It hasn’t spontaneously combusted since you left.  Don’t worry, bro.’

Bitty walked in, and suddenly every eye was upon him.  Well, Dex was watching both him and Nursey, who was chronicling the whole thing.  He was relaying some of the comments from Bitty’s twitter to him, eyes bright and shining bottle green with laughter.  Bitty was mid-comment, dictating a reply, when he clocked the oven.  He gasped and a hand flew to his mouth.

‘Oh.  My.  What is—I can’t believe y’all—how did y’all—when did y’all—what’d y’all do with—.’

Somewhere in there, Bitty started crying.  While Dex was about 85% sure it was happy tears, he really hoped it wasn’t overwhelmed tears, too.  Then Bitty saw Jack there (taking pictures, naturally).  He waved a shaking finger at the captain, an accusation in the best way.

‘You.  Mr. Zimmermann, you made me think you’d forgotten my birthday.’

‘Sorry about that, Bittle.  It was necessary for the surprise.  We all chipped in for it.  Everyone here.  Dex installed the thing while Lardo was keeping you out this morning.  Team effort.’

‘Well—thanks, y’all!  I need to bake something right this second!’

‘Stop crying first, eh?’

‘Not starting with an apple pie, then.’

‘We got you apples from the store, though, Bits!  And maple syrup because Jack can’t help himself.  Also, like, a greatest hits medley of your Most Frequent Pies According to Excel.’

‘That’s so sweet of you, Ransom, oh my gosh.  Does that mean there’s rhubarb?’

Nursey fistpumped.

‘Alright, boys.  Everyone out of the kitchen who’s not gonna help bake.  That means Dex and Jack and Chowder if he wants to.  I’m sure Ransom needs someone to go on a booze run.  That’s you, Holster.’

Once the pies—chocolate rhubarb, peach, and maple apple—were out of the oven, things got kegstery pretty fast.

* * *

His family always thought he went driving when he was angry, as if the accumulation of distance might by some strange alchemy mollify him—the rhythm of the road or something equally dumb.  Outside normal hours, at least, that might have been the case (harder to punch James or yell at his Ma when they weren’t in the truck with him).

When it was open, though, William drove the half hour through Waldoboro and then past Damariscotta to the Lincoln County Animal Shelter.

He’d started spending time there midway through sophomore year—on his own time, anyway.  The school’s community service program had set him up socializing old people, a task which improved his patience and manners, both.  He’d wanted to fulfill his hours in more or less any other way, though, so once the assigned part of the program was through, Mrs. Donovan had offered to drive him to the shelter on days he didn’t have work (or games, during hockey season) after school.

At the shelter, they’d started him off walking dogs, but once he let on that he held no distaste for cleaning cat boxes, they rewarded him by letting him spend time with the cats.  In his junior year, William convinced Alice, the woman in charge of the shelter, that he could be both trusted and trained to deal with—socialize—the older, skittish, and otherwise difficult cats.

So, here he was, on an afternoon that _shouldn’t_ have been that bad.  James was being (merely) himself, Ma was being (gently) overbearing, Dad was trying to set out what he thought were reasonable expectations about college and its costs.  As if William weren’t _intimately_ familiar with that sticker price already.  It sat in the back of his mind, fizzing with an anxiety that bordered on hysteria: a sum that large was comical to consider.

So he’d walked out for the afternoon.  He might be back for dinner.  He didn’t know.

Fortunately, Figs cared little for all that.  She was still in the opening stages of her vanishing act—she fled so quickly at anyone’s approach that Alice began calling her a figment of her imagination.  The name had stuck, although mostly people shortened it in one way or another.  She’d only appear for people she liked—William had endured days of trying to be still and inviting to entice her out from her little cat cave.  Today took ten minutes with a hand stretched past his knee before he felt rabbit-soft grey fur nudge insistently against his knuckles. 

William knew better, now, than to move before Figs was properly settled.  Once he had a purring loaf of cat stretched out along his thigh, he began to relax.  He spoke quietly to the cat, scritching along her jaw, muttering school gossip, family drama, and personal secrets in equal measure.

At some point, the door to the cat cages opened—Figs tensed on his lap, but for once didn’t flee—and William heard Thom chattering away as he escorted someone back.  Presumably a potential adopter.  William tried to keep Figs calm, even as other (gasp) people approached.

‘This hallway is where we house our cats—kittens are in the room on the other end.  The benefit of a cat is that you already know how they’ll turn out.  You said you wanted a lap cat, Amelia, right?’

‘I mean, one who would ride around on my shoulder would be the best, but Dad says that probably won’t happen.’

‘He’s right, there.  Shoulder cats are pretty uncommon—shoulders aren’t well shaped for most cats to hang on, and the unpredictable movement doesn’t make them feel that secure up there.’

They passed Figs’ cage, and Thom nodded sidelong at William.  The older volunteer always seemed to notice William, to acknowledge him.  Thom only came in when he was home on break from college, so William never quite knew what to make of it.  Regardless, Thom’s gestures always felt like an affirmation, like he was doing something right with these cats.

The kid waved at William as she passed, holding her dad’s hand—he assumed.  Figs was facing away from the hallway, so she didn’t disturb the cat.  He smiled back and nodded at her in response.  She stopped to walk up to the cage, even though her dad tried to hold her back a bit from the bars.  She stifled a giggle when William held a finger up to his mouth.

‘What’s that one like?’ she asked, gesturing to Figs.

‘Gentle and friendly, but very skittish.  She takes a while to warm up to people, and tends to hide around new folks.  If you move very slowly and quietly, you can come in and pet her.’

‘Okay!’ she whisper-shouted.  ‘Daddy—can I?’

‘Well, kiddo, the man’s said you can.’

‘Thom—could you open the door for her?  I’m a bit stuck right now.’

‘Sure, Will.’  Thom chuckled as he opened the door.

The kid—ten, maybe?—tiptoed into the enclosure as William kept petting her.  With an exaggeratedly careful gait that drew visual attention toward her rather than away, she slowly moved toward William and the cat.  She was the opposite of stealthy.  Someone had shown her how to greet a cat, since she sidled a hand up in front of Figs’s face.  The cat tensed to flee, but William held her carefully—not trapping her on his leg, but letting her know it was alright.

Figs stayed there for about fifteen seconds of purring and petting before something, somewhere made a noise and she bolted.

‘Awww, she got scared.  But she was so soft and nice.’

‘Yeah, she’s great if you’re very still—you did pretty well with her.’

‘She seems like a cat who’d need lots of love and careful attention, pumpkin.  If you don’t think you can give her that, we should see about maybe one of the others.’

‘With careful love and attention, she’d do really well—and since a cat’s affection can’t be forced, you’d know that she likes you when she decides you’re her person.’

Together, they spent another fifteen minutes waiting to see if Figs would reemerge.  The kid, Shawna it turned out, talked quietly with Will while they waited.  When Figs stuck her head out from her hiding spot, Shawna lit up like the sun, and Will knew he was losing another one of this temporary feline friends.

* * *

Eight o’clock hit, and Nurse wanted to explode.  He always got antsy when he was on the upswing again, all the energy that the depression sapped from him flooding back at the most useless times, demanding to be used and on nothing in particular.  He flexed his fingers, clenched a fist, tried to relax.  Eventually he gave up and flopped down on his bed, groaning into his pillow.

That, naturally, was when Campbell came by on his rounds.  Seeing Nurse face down on his bed—or perhaps hearing him groan—Campbell poked his head into the room, eyebrows drawn together.

‘Doing alright, Nurse?’

‘Yeah.  Study hall’s an inopportune time to find myself antsy.  If you see me doing pushups on rounds later, that’ll be why.’  Nurse got up and sat back at his desk.

‘As long as you get your work done, there’s no need to explain your training to me.’  With that, Campbell continued down the hall, and Nurse watched him go—it was weird, he thought, how quietly he moved for how large he was.  Also weird to see him in jeans and a sweater rather than the coach’s jacket of practice or the jacket and tie of class.

Nurse read for a while.  Campbell, knowing he was ahead of the readings, had thrown him some poetry and an alternative paper prompt after Nurse had expressed interest in reading more about and from the Harlem Renaissance.  The prompt invited a comparison between the poets in the sources Campbell provided with the poets they’d read in class from other times and places.

Starting his paper properly, Nurse thought, he checked his e-mail.  Nothing new or distracting.  He checked his class-year’s private fb group—a bit of gossip, but nothing useful or interesting.  Or pertaining to Nurse himself.  Shitty was online on gchat.

 **HeighoSaysRowley:** Hey

 **B.Knight:** How’s it going, you beautiful fucker?

 **HeighoSaysRowley:** Antsy.  Reading angry depressing optional poetry—it’s pretty awesome, actually. Campbell’s chill.

 **B.Knight:** yeah, dude.  Scary when he’s angry, tho

 **HeighoSaysRowley:** True.  How’re things at Samwell?

 **B.Knight:** Good, man!  Weird week, but good.  Jackabelle’s acquiesced to my charming personality and we seem to be becoming friends

 **HeighoSaysRowley:** He’s a good guy?  Glad to hear that.  What’s weird about this week?

 **B.Knight:** I think someone hung a sign on my back saying ‘will affirm all sexualities’ or something.  Buncha folks came out to me this week

Nurse was dumbstruck.  He’d considered coming out, naturally.  There was a GSA at Andover—but there were rather more Day of Truth type assholes than Day of Silence types.  Its membership was… limited.

 **B.Knight:** you there, brah?

 **HeighoSaysRowley:** Yeah.  Thinking.

 **B.Knight:** oh?

 **HeighoSaysRowley:** Yeah.

He was going to do this.  The thought of coming out—of actually saying it to someone—threatened his equilibrium.  But Shitty had long since proven himself safe.

 **HeighoSaysRowley:** So.

 **B.Knight:** Brah. you ok?

 **HeighoSaysRowley:** Yeah, I just.

 **HeighoSaysRowley:** Gimme a sec.  Composign.

 **HeighoSaysRowley:** Composing.

 **HeighoSaysRowley:** Right.  So add one to your tally.

 **B.Knight:** tally?

 **HeighoSaysRowley:** I’m… I don’t really know what I am, but not straight.  Like, bi, or pan or something?  Skewed more towards guys, I think.  So, yeah.

 **B.Knight:** Thank you for trusting me with this.  It makes me so happy that you know yourself, and I’m goddamn honored that you feel like you can tell me this.  If I were there, I’d be limpet-hugging you so hard right now

 **HeighoSaysRowley:** I miss you, dude.  Even when you’re being a goddamn octopus.

 **B.Knight:** We both know you love my cuddles.  And if you miss me, come out to Boston on break, man—I can use you as an excuse first to horrify and then to get away from my parents.  Well, my dad anyway.  Mom loves you.  Assume she says hi.

 **B.Knight:** We can skip the horrifying, though, if you’d rather not expose yourself (heh) to a racist asshole. 

 **HeighoSaysRowley:** Phrasing.  Yeah, I think if we can keep the asshole exposure to a minimum all around, that could be a good time.  But yeah.  That’d be miles better than an empty house.  Hi back to Dr. Sullivan, too.

 **B.Knight:** So, dudes and assholes and spring break aside, what’s new, my graceful friend?

 **HeighoSaysRowley:** Hey—someone has to be the clumsy one in need of beign caught all the time.  Otherwise, not too much.

 **HeighoSaysRowley:** *being.  Ugh.

 **B.Knight:** Sure, Nurse.  It’d be more believable if you consistently threw yourself at the ground near hot dudes.  Rather than, like, when no one else is within ten feet of you.

 **HeighoSaysRowley:** Those times are cover up for when it’s intentional. 

 **HeighoSaysRowley:** Or.  Wait.  Shit.  Nevermind.  Anyway, thanks for the invite, and for listening, and for being awesome.  I should get back to work before Campbell murders me.

 **B.Knight:** Course, brah—I should get back to work, too.  I’ve promised myself the reward of another round of prying Jack out of his shell once I read through this Descartes.

 **HeighoSaysRowley:** Good luck there, man—peace.

On his end of the internet, Nurse alternated between relief bordering on euphoric and endless internal screaming.  He’d come out.  Shitty still liked him.  The world hadn’t ended.  The rest of the world still didn’t know.  Other people wouldn’t take it well.  He was demanding other people’s time and emotional energy to deal with his shit.

Leave it for now, Nurse thought.  Let it be enough that Shitty’s cool.  Write your fucking paper. 

Chill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge round of thanks to Aphyr, Bracket, Stelepami, and Torias_Kane for their assistance with allllllll the programming shit that my philosophy brain never took courses in. Where I got things wrong, I'm willing to pretend that it's the idiot boys in question who are gonna fuck up their exams accordingly.
> 
> Also, the Louis who appears in this story (and already has!) is not the new Waffle. That was an amusing and mildly frustrating reveal, and may require a new tag for this as it continues.
> 
> So, long chapter. Writing chapter 10 currently, because reunion was not nearly so productive as I'd hoped (shocking), although I did pound out 3k on the plane heading outbound and 2k on the way back. I have hopes that it will be ready to post on schedule, assuming nothing in my life blows up more. Fortunately, I have a thorough outline that's not terribly likely to go off the rails in writing.
> 
> And, at last, Johnson as plothole filler.


	10. Chapter 10

Chowder’s parents had gotten him a flight out west that left Logan at nearly seven at night, when the last cheap Samwell shuttle left at noon.  Dex had volunteered—even as Nursey was suggesting him—to drive him into Boston.  Dex then immediately asked Bitty if he could crash in the Haus overnight, since the dorms would be closed and it’d be dumb to head out from Logan to Maine through Boston’s murderous (and interminable) rush hour.  He’d given Nursey a significant look when it came out that Nursey’s flight was after graduation and that he was crashing on the living room floor for a couple nights during senior week.  Most of Nursey’s friends—and the other underclassmen on the team who didn’t live in the Haus—had left within a day or two of their last finals.

After they finished up their last finals, the frogs moved Chowder’s boxed-up stuff—and the fragile things, like his framed Nabokov jersey and the smaller frame with several pictures of him and his sister—into the Haus.  Dex cleared a section of the basement for all of Chowder’s stuff—as well as what he and Nursey were leaving behind over the summer.  Jack’s room was going to be very teal.

Once all the boxes had been moved over from dorms, they separated to clean their rooms. Nursey vacuumed, chiseled the last remaining bits of sticky tack off the wall, and emptied the trashcan for the last time.  Once he was certain he’d completed the checkout checklist, he put his key in the checkout envelope and dropped it into the box by the hall supervisor’s apartment.

Nursey took a moment to appreciate that he had finished his freshman year.

On the way back to the Haus, Nursey pinged the other frogs about lunch plans.

 

 **Jaws:** Hadn’t really thought!  I’m out of meals for the dining hall, so—order something?  But we have to make sure it comes in time for us to leave for the airport.  Should we just pick something up on the way?

 **Me:** Pizza’d probably work.

 **Snap:** You don’t need to be at the airport for three hours, Chowder.  Order pizza, Nursey—unless you have other ideas given the time, Chowder?

 **Jaws:** Can we get half Hawaiian?

 **Me:** I’ll order us a whole one.  When it arrives, I’ll steal Dex’s pineapple and he can pretend that it’s pepperoni.

 **Snap:** Is it stealing if I give you permission?

 **Me:** It is, because I will not ask for permission.

 

Nursey ordered pizza and settled in with his notebook on the front porch bench.  He listened to the bustle inside, but decided not to go in and join in a frenzy that wasn’t really his—he knew he would be _welcome_ , of course, but that was a different matter.  He didn’t want to intrude on Jack and Shitty’s shenanigans at least until Chowder joined him (it wasn’t a goodbye yet, but he knew his continued concerns about Shitty disappearing would bring down the mood).

Leaning back in the chair and staring off into a point in the sky somewhere above the LAX house, Nursey contemplated the team and its internal connections.  He spaced out a while, so he didn’t notice Shitty coming out to join him.  Shitty poked him in the shoulder, and Nursey totally didn’t levitate a foot off the bench.  Totally didn’t do it.

‘Mind if I join you on the Bench of Brooding, Mr. Nurse?’

‘No, Mr. Knight, all are welcome to brood in this space.’

‘So what has you brooding, then?’

‘Eh.  Thinking too much.’

‘Anything in particular?’

‘Nah.’  _I certainly wasn’t thinking about my shifting ties to the team—and you.  And Dex._ ‘Just the usual end-of-year blahs.  It’s chill.’

‘Ah.  “Things are changing and I don’t like them one little bit?”  I know that feel.  Need a hug?’

‘Wouldn’t say no.’

‘C’mere, my little froshling.’

It was a good hug—Shitty’s generally were, unless they were the overenthusiastic sort that started with him getting airtime.  It wasn’t a short one; Nursey would blame it, if pressed, on Shitty lingering and luxuriating in physical contact.  As if Nursey never did.  It took Dex clearing his throat for them to break it up.

‘Sorry to interrupt the love-fest.  I’m very happy you two care about each other.  But if you wanna go with us to the airport, Chowder’s inside saying his last goodbyes.  Also, pizza should be here soon, assuming you ordered it.  You _did_ order it, didn't you, Nursey?’

‘Yeah, sorry.  Thanks, Shits.  And yes.  I did order the pizza.  Which should be arriving momentarily.’

‘Sure thing, brah.  Enjoy the ride to the airport.’  Shitty patted Nursey on the shoulder, fucked up Dex’s hair as he passed—muttering something about a waste of flow potential—and sauntered into the Haus.

Nursey and Dex nodded at each other, but didn’t say anything until Chowder emerged.  It was only a little bit awkward.

‘You guys ready?  Let’s go!’

‘Are you excited about the airport, the flying, or the getting home, Chowder?’

‘Uhhhhh—the flying and the getting home.’

‘Fair.  No one should like airports.  You’re forgetting an important thing, though, Chowder?’

‘Pizza.’

‘Ohhhhhh right.  Huh.’

They waited on the porch for the pizza to arrive, Chowder leaning against the porch railing even though Dex said it wasn’t trustworthy, Dex and Nursey sitting on either end of the bench.  When the pizza arrived—the delivery guy had apparently gotten lost and nearly delivered it to the soccer team—they paid and devoured it in short order.

‘We all sufficiently fed now?’

‘Yeah!’

‘I’m set.’

‘You’re deadweight.’

‘Yeah, but you need company on the way back.’

‘Guyyyyyys don’t fight just get in the truck.’

‘We’re not fighting, Chowder.’

‘You heard the goalie, Dexy.’

‘Ugh.’

The frogs piled into Dex’s truck.  Nursey found himself riding in the middle of the bench seat.  To give Dex room to drive with, he scooted close to Chowder, who responded by just leaning into his space and resting his head on Nursey’s shoulder.  Dex started the truck, patting the steering wheel like it were a friend, and pulled out into Jason street, heading eventually toward Route 85.

‘Any big plans for the summer, Chowder?  Or will you just be surfing, hanging out on beaches, and wishing the Sharks were playing while you were in town?’

‘Only one of those.  Well, maybe two, if we go down to Santa Cruz or something.  San Francisco beaches are pretty iffy.  Hella rocky.  Probably gonna bum around a while—my guess is my mom gives me and Andrea a week of recuperating before she decides we need something to occupy us and gives us a choice of, like, volunteering or finding summer jobs.  I’ve already sent a couple e-mails to local aquariums—did you know there are, like, half a dozen of them in the Bay Area?—to see if they need, like, a volunteer lab assistant or something.’

‘Nice!  Then you’d get some non-hockey sharks going.  You could try to teach them how to play hockey.’

‘They’d suffocate out of water, though.’

‘Do it underwater?  In SCUBA gear?’

‘How would the puck work underwater?’

Dex signaled, changed lanes, and turned onto Route 85.

‘We could find a use for the lacrosse balls that Bitty collects from the Haus lawn.’

‘Way to accidentally turn this hypothetical into a final fantasy reference, Nursey.’

Nursey blinked, unwilling to admit he didn't know what Dex was talking about.

‘What about you, Nursey?  What’re you planning to do with your summer?’

‘There’s a trip somewhere in there, I’m pretty sure.’  Dex raised an eyebrow without even turning his head to call bullshit.  ‘Buncha time to kill around the house, I suspect.  Poetry and other writing.  Might learn to drive as a way to pass the time.’

‘Would you have a licensed driver who could supervise you, Nursey?  Or a car you could drive?’

‘There are schools for that, aren’t there?’

Dex snorted.

‘Probably?’

‘Yeah—there are in the City, for sure.  Get you the whole fifty hours and everything!’

‘If you’re looking to kill time, Nurse, you could—you know—’

‘Get a job?’ they all three chorused.

‘I mean, I could.  But the team’s horror stories of working retail have convinced me that I should never force myself to suffer so.’

‘It would build character, I’m sure.’

They slowed as they approached the EZ-Pass only lane for getting onto the Pike.  Dex must have borrowed Shitty’s transponder or something.

‘Many things do, Dexy—and not all of them have to be unpleasant.’

‘If you learn to drive, though, Nursey, we could all go on a roadtrip next summer!’

‘Oh, that’d be mad chill.’

‘You two could.  I have to work all summer to afford books and room and board—and maybe some new hockey gear.’

That killed the conversation for a bit.  It seemed like Chowder was testing how cuddly he could be with Nursey, perhaps not realizing that there was no particular limit shy of sitting in Nursey’s lap.  Dex drove in the same way he did most other things—efficiently, by all the rules he considered pertinent, and with inchoate vitriol for anyone who got in his way.

Nursey took advantage of his middle seat and hooked his phone up to the aux cord.  For whatever reason, even though he put on a nostalgia mix that he was certain would draw at least _some_ comment from Dex, the other defenseman remained quiet.  Chowder eventually pressed for details on Nursey’s trip.

‘I’m the backup passenger for Mom’s trip to Italy that she’d planned for the first half of the summer.  Second half’ll probably be a lot of sorting shit out.’

‘You’re being vague again, Nursey.  I thought Dex made you stop doing that.’

Dex rolled his eyes, but said nothing.  

‘Eh.  Well.  It’s kinda awkward.  I haven’t been told anything, but I’m pretty sure my parents are still separating.  Divorce papers may or may not have been filed.  All I know for sure is that it’s bad enough that I get to go to Italy to keep my mom company.’

Nursey saw, out of the corner of his peripheral vision, that Dex glanced quickly over to—what?  See if he were alright?  Dex did that a lot when he seemed like he might be worrying.  It reminded Nursey of Jeannie, when he was little.  _Huh_.  Chowder grabbed Nursey’s arm and gave it a hug as if the part could serve for the whole.  A synecdochic hug.  Nursey clenched the hugged arm into his side to suggest a return hug.

‘It’s, uh.  Not really a new situation?  It’s why I decided I wasn’t gonna go home for winter break.  Dorian and his family had hosted me the year before and offered me a standing invitation.  So I took them up on it.’

‘Is there, uh—’ Dex stopped, realizing perhaps that it was only news to them.

‘Shiny happy new change of topic!’  Chowder continued to squeeze his arm.  More or less gently.  Nursey patted Chowder’s shoulder with his free hand, and Chowder released him.  He looked completely unabashed.

‘Do you know where in Italy you’re going?’ 

‘Florence, Rome, and Venice, I think.  Not sure what order.  A week or so each?’

‘That sounds awesome!  I expect a postcard.’

‘Get me your address and I will be sure to do so.  You, too, Pointy, if you want.’

Dex nodded without looking away from the road.  Boston had crept up around them, a gradual swell of civilization.  They passed the huge anti-gun violence advertisement with its line-up of child victims near Fenway, and soon enough they found themselves underground, heading toward the Ted Williams tunnel.

‘You should come visit this summer, if you can, Chowder.  You could fly back, like, a week early or something and I could pick you up.  Either in a car if I’ve learned or—’

‘Just as likely,’ Dex chirped.

‘If I haven’t, then on the train.  You could come too, Dex.  If you want.’

‘We’ll have to see—not that I don’t appreciate the invite, but I’ll probably be working right up until preseason.’

‘I’ll talk to my parents and see what the plan is and let you know—if that’s okay?’

‘Yeah, it’s chill.’

Dex’s hands clenched on the steering wheel, briefly whitening his knuckles further.

Suddenly they were out of the tunnel, and Logan all around them.  Dex had probably already gotten Chowder’s flight info—or at least his airline—because he drove directly to the C terminal without any inquiry or prompting.  He pulled up to a door and stopped.

‘This is you, Chowder.  Don’t brain Nursey with your giant suitcases when you get them out from behind the seats.’

‘Glad you care about my safety, Dexy.’

‘Like you said earlier, Nursey—I need company for the ride back.’  Despite the chirpiness of the comment, Dex still sounded a bit somber to Nursey’s ears.

Everyone piled out of the truck.  Chowder got his bags, plunked them on the curb, and turned back toward Nursey and Dex.  Dex, surprisingly hugged him first.  Nursey couldn’t quite make out what he said to the goalie, but Chowder’s face softened and he smiled almost shyly.

‘I’m glad we’re friends, too, Dex.  You have a good summer, and don’t murder Nursey on the way back to Samwell.  K?’

‘Even if he deserves it.’

‘C’mere Nursey—don’t think that the hug in the car—’

‘That awkward side-glomp?  Def not a substitute for a real hug.’

They collided, and Dex—continuing to be weirdly tactile, but whatever—wrapped himself around the both of them.

‘This may have to count as the last frogpile of being actually frogs.’

‘Bitty said we’ll always be the Frogs.’

‘Point stands, Chow.’

‘Yeah, yeah.  Best kind of correct.  We know.  Go drive Nursey home—I have a plane to catch.’

‘Fly safe.’

‘Don’t crash the plane, brah!’

Dex forced a chuckle at that.  Before they got back into the truck, Dex caught Nursey by the shoulder and spun him.  He reeled in Nursey, who was too shocked to do anything but go along with it, for a quick bro-hug.  He released Nursey before he made eye contact again.  Nursey quirked an eyebrow.

‘Shit.  Uh.  Sorry.  Was that not okay?  Um.’

‘You’re fine, Dex.  I thought we’d established that hugs are pretty much always a Good.  Just wasn’t expecting it.  You never come off as very tactile.’

They got back into the truck.  Just in time, too: Nursey could see one of the security guys walking toward it, shaking his head at them.  Dex pulled out into the flow of traffic and they headed back toward Samwell.  Nursey’s music was still playing—it had just flipped into Parts of Speech—and Dex had yet to comment.

‘I didn’t want you, like, feeling left out or anything.  I’m also really glad we’re friends.  Particularly with how we started.  You and Chowder are, um, my closest friends, I think, besides Kells.’

‘Thanks for saying.  Assuming Chowder feels the same, that’s the three of us in accord, then.’  He paused a moment, trying to think of a conversational diversion.  A road sign offered a solution.  ‘You thirsty?  I could use a drink.  Coffee, maybe?’

‘What I’m hearing is that you want to go through the Dunkin’ drive-through.’

‘Maaaaaaaaybe?’

‘We can do that.  Not like we’ve got anywhere we need to be.’

They pulled off.  Dex got his usual iced coffee, and ordered Nursey an iced latte—they didn’t appear to have chai—without preamble.  He paid and waved off Nursey’s card and cash both.  He didn’t protest, though, when Nursey made him pass along a five as a tip at the pickup window.  They got back on the road. 

Nursey sipped his latte and watched the road pass—and the houses and the bridges and the gradual thinning of city.  He thought about the weird, transitional state they were in—between school years, on a road between places.  _Never quite one thing or another, we two.  Now there’s a poetic thesis_.

‘You planning on retiring to Maine after we graduate, Dex?  Fix computers and haul lobster on the side?  Find a good Irish-Mainer lass hand have a passel of kids?’  He tried to keep his voice light and chirpy—or at least ambiguous enough to give Dex the option of whether or not to take him seriously.

Dex glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes, although he continued to face the highway.  He didn’t stiffen—nothing so dramatic or sudden.  It was more like he systematically armored himself in the opposite of chill.

‘Hard tellin’ not knowing.’  _That_ was a new and impenetrable phrase.  ‘I hadn’t really considered any other possibility.  Gotta make sure I can help out my family.  Not so easy to do that from Away.’

‘You told me earlier this term to not deflect like you were “one of my boarding school people.”  I’d appreciate it if you’d extend me the same courtesy.’

‘What makes you think I’m deflecting?’  Anger, as if on cue.  As if deployed tactically.

‘Your accent just jumped up, like, six notches.  You deployed a new phrase at me—what does that even _mean_ , “hard tellin’, not knowin’?”’

‘Uh.  It means “I don’t know.”’

‘Your sudden anger could cut either way, but it feels defensive.  It’s like I know you—or some reasonably close facsimile.  Like, I’ll drop it if you tell me to, but shit like this makes me think we might _not_ be friends.  I won’t claim entitlement to your innermost thoughts or feelings, but don’t try to play me, alright?  I have years of practice at shitty games like this.’

‘Sorry.  You’re right.  I get so preoccupied, sometimes, with money—where it comes from, where it goes, who has it and why I don’t—that it’s like a hair trigger thing.  I do have to figure out how to help my family.  My dad had to cosign the loans I took out, and I gotta make good on that all.’

Nursey nodded.  Mad an affirmative noise (grunted), in case Dex hadn’t clocked the gesture in the periphery.

‘I don’t want to go back.  Not really.  I mean, hell, some of our hockey games rank among the farthest I’ve been from home.  I don’t want that to be the measure and scope of my life.  If I don’t manage to springboard out from college…  I probably won’t manage it.  But there’s a difference between wanting—which is useless—and planning.  Planning requires concrete steps and I don’t even have a destination to start with.’

‘You start with an assumption that people will hire you for your degree.  For Samwell or for your competence with computers.  Or because of networking.  Or—’

‘Fuuuuuuuuuck.  That’s like, the worst word ever, Nursey.’

‘I mean, it’s no fucking fun as, like, a general rule.  But it gets results.  And you’ve said before that you do what you have to.’

Dex steered them off the pike.

‘True.  I just don’t know if plans that long-term are a luxury I can afford yet.’

‘Plans can always change, dude.  Just look at Jack.  But if you don’t make any plans, then you just let yourself slide along on the rails, and what the hell sort of life is that?’

Dex didn’t speak for a while.  Just relaxed into the driving.  Dessa finished her anthem on family and debts and unearned forgiveness, then started in on the Beekeeper, with her pitcher full of smoke.  Nursey watched Dex tap a finger on the steering wheel almost in time with what beat the song had.

‘Who is this?  Her lyrics are… sharp.’

‘Dessa—started off in a group out of the Twin Cities called Doomtree.  She’s got amazing references, too.  So many allusions to, like, old poetry and philosophers and shit.  It’s great.’

‘Could you burn me a copy of this when we get back?’

This was not a request to mock.  Nursey bit down on his instinctive chirping response.  He nodded instead.

‘Yeah, bro.  Be happy to—once we’re back at the Haus.’

Dex drove in silence for a while—he’d used a lot of words this drive already, and it always seemed to Nursey like he had a set quota of them on any given day.  Probably he’d gone over.  Nursey zoned out a bit, watching the fading twilight and the rush or new leaves on roadside tree, and wondered—not for the first time—what Dex was like at home.  Whether he was more comfortable, more talkative, more relaxed there—or less.

‘—Nurse?’

‘Huh?’

‘I asked if you could text Bitty to see if there’s food, or if we hafta scrounge.’

‘Oh.  Sure.’

 

 **Me:** There food at the Haus?  Dex wants to know if we have to fend for ourselves.

 **Bits:** There’s plenty, hon.  [series of pie and plate emoji]

 

‘There’s at least pie.  He says there’s plenty, but pie was the only emoji he used.’

‘Helpful.  Well, could do worse than a dinner consisting entirely of pie.’

‘If we eat it all, you know he’ll just bake you another couple to take home.’

‘Yeah, but the driving would be rather uncomfortable.’

Another silence enveloped the truck, long enough that Nursey was certain it would last the last few minutes before Samwell the town turned into Samwell the university.

‘I know you’ll be busy over break, what with your trip and all, but—’

Nursey faced Dex.  Waited.  Prompting would do no good here.

‘but if you want, we should stay in communication.  You can text me about the cool shit you find in Italy or hipsters you think might be even more ridiculous than you, or whatever.’

‘Only if you find me the cutest of all the lobsters you throw back.’

‘I don’t work on the boat, Nursey.’

‘I demand at least one adorable lobster, regardless of your place of employment.’

That, at last, drew a laugh out of Dex, who seemed like he was trying to shake off the seriousness of the drive.

‘I hereby promise you one,’ he held up a single finger at Nursey ‘ _one_ lobster this summer.  In exchange I demand one phone call not less than three minutes in length, at your initiation.’  Somehow he kept a straight face through his demand.

Nursey busted out laughing.

‘Bro.  Did you, like, crib notes from Shitty or something?  You sounded all kinds of lawyerly right there.’

‘I mean, mostly I was trying to channel a middle ground between, like, Shitty as normal, Shitty acting like his class, and you when you want to get your way.’

‘Ooh, burn.’

They reached the Haus.  Got out of the truck.  Inside, they found Holster and Shitty wrestling as Lardo tallied bets.  Jack watched from the armchair, on which Bitty had perched himself.  Ransom was cheering Holster on.

Holster was losing badly.

‘Holster, did Shitty not warn you he roomed with the captain of the wrestling team at Andover?’

‘Boys, there’s pie and some leftover lasagna in the fridge for you.  There’s also tupperware for you to take tomorrow, Dex.  Send it back when you get a chance—or just bring it with you when you come back from summer.’

They got food and settled in for a raucous night that ended with Nursey and Dex camped out on sleeping bags on opposite sides of the toxic green couch.  The next morning, Dex set out early—but not so early as to miss breakfast or slip out without saying goodbye to the whole team.  He got a spine-cracking tight hug from Shitty who promised to continue their “educational and perspectivally valuable debates” by text or any other convenient medium.  He shook Jack’s hand for long enough that it was awkward for everyone else, too, so Jack just pulled him into a bro-hug and that was that.

‘Later, Nurse.  I will get you your lobster, per our agreement.’  Dex called as he walked the last of his bags out to his truck.

‘What, I get that, but no hug?  C’mon, Pointy.  You’re better than that.’

‘You got your hug at the airport yesterday.’

‘Doesn’t count—you said it was so I wouldn’t feel left out cuz you hugged Chowder, too.  I demand an actual goodbye hug.’ 

Rans and Holster were cooing: ‘Look at the little D-men, Holtzy!’

‘Yeah, they’re finally getting along properly.’

‘Only took them a year.’

Nursey and Dex caught each other’s eye, flipped their co-captains off in tandem.  Nursey got his proper hug.  Dex got into the truck, and the whole team waved him off.  And then there was one Frog on campus.  They all went back inside.

Bitty cooked a lot over the course of Senior Week.  Lardo moved her stuff into Shitty’s room in a weirdly seamless fashion.  As Shitty would clear out some of his stuff—put it into boxes, bequeath it to “deserving underclassfolk,” or otherwise dispose of it—Lardo would shift her own stuff to fill in the void.  Ransom and Holster delighted in organizing one last blowout for Jack and Shitty.  Well, mostly for Shitty.

 

The day of Commencement, Nursey woke to shouting.  Well.  Woke was strong.  He started moving at the shouting, but didn’t attain consciousness until his second cup of coffee.  The Haus smelled like tub juice and stupidity.

A week of sleeping on even a well-padded floor does not do wonders for sleep.

As consciousness filtered in with caffeine—he could afford to not be awake here, of all places, even with the shouting—Nursey gradually became aware that Ransom and Holster were arguing with Shitty over the tub juice recipe.  Not whether they’d be its new custodians—between their being, well, _them_ and their also being captains, that was pretty much a given.  No, instead they were arguing over the _timing_.  Shitty was saying he wouldn’t tell them until after he’d walked across a stage and everyone on the team had shouted loud enough that no one could possibly have heard his name.

‘And that is a _condition precedent_ , my bros.  For those of you not going to law school, it means that if someone hears my name then you don’t get your recipe.’

‘Shitty.  Bro.  We took Economics and the Law together.  I know about those even if I’m not dumb enough to go to law school.  But what happens when you get swept aside by both branches of your family and we never see you again?’

Even Ransom looked a bit taken aback by his bro’s drama.

‘Holster, if you don’t stop, you’ll piss him off.  And then he’ll just hand the recipe to Lardo, who will make you work very hard to ever get to see it, much less take possession of it.’  Nursey did not look up from his coffee when he spoke.  He fistbumped Lardo on his way out—the assemblage in the kitchen meant that there was a shower available.

By the time he was out of the shower and dressed and a reasonable approximation of a functioning person, Bitty had taken over the kitchen for brunch.  Nevermind how there wasn’t time for the graduates to actually wait.  They were due in their places in ten-to-fifteen-minutes-depending-on-whom-you-asked.  Shitty found Nursey as he was finishing up his full Windsor with the assistance of the window in Shitty’s room.

‘Mom says she’ll meet you by the Well; she’s got some seats saved.  Also, apparently my father’s an asshole and has booked me for lunch, so that plan's dead.  Sorry, bro.  If you’re still around, we can get dinner with my mom tonight.’

‘Nah.  I’ve got the 4:16 train out of Back Bay Station.  Make sure to drop by the City sometime this summer, to make good on the rain check?’

‘Do my best, Nursey.  But.  I should go.  Even if all we’re doing is lining up and waiting, they said we should really try very hard to not be late.  Which I am.’

‘Trying, or late?’

‘Both, brah.  Just because I’m late doesn’t mean I’m can’t also be trying to not be.  Also, fair warning.  Jack’s mom and the AGM of the Falcs are downstairs; Bitty may or may not be freaking out.’

‘About that specifically, or graduation, or just generally?’

‘Unclear.  He’s hardcore pretending to not be?  Not that we’d know anyone else who does that sort of thing.’ 

‘Go get in line to wait to march and get seated and shit.  I’ll find your mom and see you and shout appropriately.  We’ll reconnoiter after.’

Shitty finished his four-in-hand and slapped Nursey heartily on the back before dashing out of his room as he slipped on his suit coat—it was like a brief flashback to Andover, running off late to chapel after practice.

Downstairs, Bitty was indeed freaking out.  He was frenetic and cheerful and bustling in a way that screamed of a need for action and distraction and diversion from what was bothering him.  It was like watching a more chipper version of the early stages of his chill at work: things couldn’t bother Nursey while he was chill and perhaps Bitty could outrun (out-happy?) the things bothering him.

Over the course of brunch, he greeted the other underclassmen, took the plate full of food thrust at him, and settled in beside Mrs. Zimmermann.

‘Bobby’s gone ahead to save us some seats.  I think he knew that his presence would impede forward momentum in a house full of hockey boys.  Eric, these beignets are incredible.’  She made a nearly obscene noise of pleasure at the food.  ‘George, you’ve at least seen Nursey’s tape, haven’t you?  He’s one of the new D-men this year, number 28.  Derek, this is Georgia Martin.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Ms. Martin.’

‘George, please.  Do you prefer Derek or Nursey?’

‘Around here I’m pretty much Nursey, but either works.’

‘Nursey, then.  It’s easier, I’ll admit, to have just one set of names to work with.  You had a good run this season—shame about the final.’

‘Yeah, but I have three more chances at it, even if we’ll miss Jack sorely next year.  We’re all glad that you’re keeping him nearby.’

‘Trust me, we’re pleased to have him, too.’

Derek was pleased to note that his suit had survived a brunch almost designed to be messy intact.  He left the Haus and its inhabitants to their slow-motion preparation and headed toward Lake Quad.  He didn’t run into anyone on his way over, although the density of families increased as he approached.  Dr. Sullivan, easily visible towering over the crowd at 6’1” and wearing heels, was not the only person trying to meet up at the statue.

‘Derek Nurse!  It’s so good to see you!’  Dr. Sullivan pulled him into a fierce hug that nearly lifted him from the ground.

‘Dr. Sullivan.  Glad you’re here.  Have you got seats mapped out for us already, or do we have to sharpen our elbows?’ 

Nursey offered her an elbow, and she linked her arm through his.  They made an odd couple—a contrast along all scales.  Dr. Sullivan had chestnut brown hair in a massive braid that came midway down her back and might have put Rapunzel to shame (and might have been able to conceal any number of small items).  Her pastel blue summer dress was cut just low enough at bust and hemline to straddle the line of decency, a sharp contrast to the conservatively cut—and _very_ well fitted—suit Nursey wore.

It was clear the sort of influence she’d had on raising Shitty.

‘I’m sure you’ll spare me the need to sharpen mine.’

‘B. would have a lecture at the ready about participation in sexism and enforcing toxic masculinity and perhaps several other tangentially related topics by the time he lost his breath, hearing you say that.’

They proceeded toward some open seats on the right side of the middle section—the smaller flanks were reserved for the graduating class.  No one checked for tickets or anything.  Families milled about, many armed with cameras.

‘And I could probably cite his feminist sources for him as he went along.  But people seem fairly polite here—’ Dr. Sullivan paused, but recovered smoothly.  ‘Here looks like a good row.  Should we save a seat for Larissa?  I got her a program, too.’

Nursey nodded absently as they filed into their chosen row.  Then he caught sight of the Knights on the other side of the section, heading back from the Pond.  Mr. Knight had aged poorly, although his beard appeared tailored to disguise his jowls, and his suit strained gently where the coat buttoned.  He wore a French-cuffed shirt with silver and enamel cufflinks in them—and a matching tiepin marred the silk of the ostentatious (if one knew to look for it) patterned tie he wore.  His wife was too young, Nursey thought, to pull off the enormous Samwell-red sunhat she wore, although her houndstooth-patterned skirt had an incredible silhouette.  Behind them trudged an elderly couple who screamed Rich and White and Cranky at least as effectively as the younger generation of Knights.

Dr. Sullivan prodded Nursey in the side.

‘They’ve seen us.  You needn’t stare too much, Derek.’

‘Thanks, Mom.’

‘Finally warming up to calling me that?’

‘Just to make a point.’

‘You continue to be too formal.’

‘I know.  But it amuses B.’

‘That’s not hard.’

‘True.  Has he always had that beard?  Or is it an attempt to disguise his aging?’

‘Oh, always.  He apparently made a bet with his college roommate that he could grow and keep a beard until he was 65.  He lost contact with said roommate around the time of the scandal, but he still keeps the beard.’

 

 **Me:** Dr. S and I have a seat saved for you if you want it.

 **Giggles:** Nah, think I’m gonna stick by your idiot co-captains. Someone’s gotta protect Bitty from their shepherding.  Plus, I’ve got an unfortunate invite to the political meal after.

 **Me:** I’m saved from ever having to meet the Knights again, after his Andover graduation.  I do not envy you your lunch plans.  Although you’ll find out his name, if you don’t know already.

 **Giggles:** If I don’t know already.  Right.  Good thing you’re cute, Nursey.

 

The graduation ceremony itself was uneventful.  It was long, and humid, and hot.  The speeches were long and dry and full of hot air.  Nursey caught up with Dr. Sullivan in whispered conversations during the presentations of honorary degrees.  Some journalist got one, and a minor political figure, and a middling famous polisci scholar.

At least the white chairs they were sitting on were padded.

After far too long, the names of graduates started to be called.  Entire rows of departing seniors would stand and proceed forward, waiting their turn to cross the stage when called, grab a diploma in one hand and shake the University President’s hand with the other, and scurry offstage to whoops from friends and family and a photo-op just offstage.

There were far too many seniors.  Nursey was glad the grad schools had their own, separate ceremony.  Eventually, though, they reached the K students, and Shitty’s row marched forward.

Damon Jacob Kingsbury—cheers.

Antoinette Susan Kingsley—cheers.

Blair Suydam Knight—noise-complaint-prompting levels of shouting, but not quite enough to cover Nursey hearing B.’s name a second time.  Nursey and Dr. Sullivan surged to their feet and cheered along with the hockey team.  It carried on long enough that some part of the audience started shushing the hockey team.  Shitty waved at his teammates before he was reminded he needed to proceed off the stage.  A glance over at the Knights showed them still in their seats, polite applause tapering off with the rest of the audience's.

‘Suydam?  They didn’t include that in his Andover graduation.’

‘It was a compromise on that ridiculous name of his.  It was my grandmother’s maiden name, and apparently high enough society for Timothy to deem it acceptable.  It also kept him from just duplicating his father’s name down onto his son and thereby requiring a roman numeral.’

‘I mean, Blair’s not _that_ bad a name—although isn’t a girl’s name on this coast?’

‘Timothy’s father is from California, and it’s apparently a boy’s name out there.  Regardless, B. has always hated it, and it probably prompted at least some of his development toward feminism.  I hope the irony is not lost on his father.’

They continued to make Shitty-focal small talk through the remainder of the alphabet.  Jack wasn’t quite the last person—there were two others whose Z-names fell after his.  The cheering was just as loud for him.  After the last of the alphabet had passed across the stage, there was general cheering and a volley of mortarboards into the air.  A small portion of students—in a tradition Nursey had only vaguely heard about—rushed into the Pond, gowns and all.

It was marvelous and carefree—and the end.

Nursey put on his most Andover smile and got ready to move everything along.

The team had gathered—as had so many others—by the pond.  As Nursey approached, they were just breaking up a mass somewhere between huddle and group hug.  Shitty flung himself onto Nursey briefly, then detached and repeated the process at his mother.  Jack offered Nursey his hand.

‘It was great playing with you, Nurse.  I’m sure I’ll see you around.’

‘If you come back to visit, yeah.  And otherwise, on the ice.  You’ll know us by the yelling.’  He tilted his head to point at Shitty and Holster.

‘Alright, boys.  Line up—Jack and Shitty in the center, and the rest of you however you please.’ 

Bad Bob had a camera.

Nursey fell in on Ransom’s left as everyone scrambled to fit into the frame.  As Bad Bob futzed with various settings on what everyone was pretty sure was Jack’s camera, Dr. Sullivan approached and snapped a few pictures with her phone.  Nursey tried to make sure his smile was more genuine than rictus for those.  Once the photography was done, the huddle broke up.  Bitty went back to the Haus pretty quickly.  Jack and his dad followed Alicia out of Nursey’s sight.  Ransom and Holster faded into the crowd, which shouldn’t have been possible given their—well, _them_.  And yet.

Lardo was watching Shitty watch Nursey, one raised eyebrow as if to say ‘well, get on with it, boys.’

‘So this is it, huh, Shits.’

‘Nah, dude.  You’re stuck with me for the long fucking haul.  No more hockey together, unless you count watching Jack-o do his sexy thing on the ice.  But that stopped weeks ago.  Now give me a hug and go get onto your train before we both start crying.  Not that there’s anything wrong with crying,’ he said quickly, forestalling Lardo, ‘but because it would ruin us all for pictures of this glorious day.  You owe me pictures of your trip, dude.  Just so you know.’

Nursey was about to turn to leave when Lardo caught his shoulder in one hand, did the same to Shitty with the other, and shoved them together.

‘Idiot boys.  It’s a good thing you have me to manage your asses.’

‘Too true, Lards.  Apologies in advance, though, for lunch. Carte blanche, though.’

Nursey fistbumped Lardo, offered Shitty one last mock-salute, and waved to Dr. Sullivan before heading back to the Haus to pick up his bags.  Bitty wasn’t in the kitchen, so he just hollered upstairs that he was heading out and to have a good summer.  In the absence of a response, he hefted his bags and waited on the front porch bench for his uber to show up.

* * *

Darlene Nurse was an unfamiliar travel partner.  She wanted to negotiate everything with Derek, or at least to try to—even after the plane had lifted off from JFK toward FLR, she was checking to make sure Derek was fine with Darlene’s need to tend to at least some business in each of the cities they’d be visiting.

It was very tentative, and it was more parental attention and care than Nurse felt like he’d had in years.

In Florence, they stayed at a hotel with fabric on the walls, and Nursey sent Dex snaps of how ridiculous even he found it.  Chowder worried more about hypothetical stains on those walls than he did about actual stains on the green couch.  Dex and Nursey roasted him for his misplaced concerns.

There were museums, of course.  Oil and egg tempera and so. much. marble.  Nursey found himself entranced by figures emerging—escaping?—from solid blocks.  Nursey started a snap streak with Lardo that ended up lasting the duration of the trip—evaluating and sassing and deriding the normative tastes of dead white dudes with occasional commentary about how gay some of it was.  Some afternoons Nursey found himself left at leisure, as his mother had meetings with unnamed people in unspecified offices.  He’d never paid particularly close attention to her work before, and now didn’t really seem like the time to start asking.  Even if they were getting to know one another—even if Darlene were trying to get closer.

After two weeks, Nursey’s French, Spanish, and Latin conspired to allow him to order food and get directions in a mediocre but serviceable facsimile of Italian (his accent was good; his grammar was… improving).  For two weeks, Nursey and his mother worked to relax into each other’s company.

They did not discuss Nurse’s father.

They rented a car—a little Peugeot sedan—and drove to Venice, crossing over on a car ferry from Lido.  On the way, Darlene told Derek about her first trip to Italy as a child.  How they’d traveled in a Renault overstuffed with bags.  How her father had been of the hilariously false opinion—derived, perhaps, from misconceptions acquired in Operation Avalanche—that you could get from any city in Italy to any other in about three hours.  How all her father wanted to do in each putatively three-hour leg of their trip around Italy was to pass a Mercedes on the open road.

Venice was less restrained than Florence.  Derek took it as a sign of a municipal recognition—acceptance—of mortality.  If your city were ephemeral—were literally sinking into the ocean at a measurable rate—why **not** make it as intricately pretty, as ostentatious and ornate, as you possibly could?  There is an immortality in memory and legend.

The weather in Venice was especially muggy—not yet hot enough to remind Nursey of the worst of summers at home, but close—the day they went by a water taxi to Murano.  The pair of Nurses toured several of the glasshouses, standing in furnace rooms and listening to speeches equal parts history and sales pitch.  Darlene bought and arranged shipment of a chandelier featuring a tiered sequence of crystal bowls in a wrought iron framework.  Derek joked that she should hang it in the breakfast nook and that he’d get goldfish to fill the bowls with.  In a different showroom, one obviously influenced by American notions of fantasy, Nursey had Darlene take a picture of him holding a glass gladius with a vitreous dragon on a table beside him.

Dex’s reaction suggested an internal struggle between how cool it was and how needlessly expensive.

It was on the (eight-ish hour) drive from Venice to Rome that Darlene first squarely addressed the elephant in the—not room, clearly.  In the car?  On the trip?  During the trip.  Darlene’s and Mr. Nurse’s attorneys—or, more likely their minions—would have gone through the house, tagging items as his, hers, or disputed.  It should all have been finished by the time they got back.  Particularly since the next court date was looming.  Derek, though, needn’t worry about any of this affecting him.  Nurse’s room would have been largely left untagged, his things being his.  Mr. Nurse would already have moved out by the time they returned.

Other than the obvious, though, why should it affect him?

Rome was a blur of architecture and history.  Nursey made sure to send postcards to Dex and Chowder.  Nursey also sent the other Frogs pictures with captions like An Inadvertent Sky View From the Floor of the Colisseum and A Close-Up of the Hole in the Palatine Hill I Nearly Just Fell Down.  Also, despite apparently being a symbol of evil, there were a _lot_ of dragons in and around the Vatican.  Nursey sent Dex a barrage of snaps asking if each red one he took a picture of was a lobster.

There were enough museums in Rome to overwhelm even Darlene’s appreciation of them.  They settled on a routine of about three hours of museums in the morning, or until Darlene noticed Derek’s eyes glazing over.  Then they picked a random direction from the museum and walked until they found a place that looked like it would have good food (good food often included just ‘there’s a gelateria over there.’).  Most afternoons, they explored outdoor features chosen either by prominence or proximity.  One afternoon, they went to see a jeweler on a side street around the corner from a bar intended for American expats.  Mr. Santini gave every appearance of recognizing Darlene and greeted her warmly.  They left a short while later, a heavy bracelet in 18-karat gold on Mrs. Nurse’s wrist.

Some days they shared their thoughts on the city with each other.  Other days, one or the other would lapse into a silence that rendered them unapproachable.  It was chill.

Within a few days of returning to New York, Mrs. Nurse went to a series of court dates and then left town on business.  It was such a sharp return to normal that it sent Nurse spinning into old habits.  He spent a solid week staying up until sunrise—staying in or going out, it was whatever—and sleeping until the sun was on its way down again.  Derek enrolled in driver’s ed classes purely to impose some sort of external structure on his life.

Things improved after that.  He spent time in coffee shops, writing poetry and people watching and attending readings.  He sent Shitty a compressed file containing all the pictures he and Darlene took in Italy.  He mastered the art of turning and changing lanes and reading the flow of traffic.  Derek practiced as much as he could, both when Darlene was around and at the driving school when she wasn't.  To celebrate passing his driving test, Darlene took Derek to Hamilton.

During that interstitial week, though, when Derek was adrift, he left Chowder a handful of mournful and dramatic voice mails that resulted in a flood of chirps the morning after—and earnest questions about how he was doing.

Derek called Dex.  Once.  Dex picked up.  Derek remembered that much.  And it maybe wasn’t a disaster?  His text history showed he’d sent his defensive partner a link to James Weldon Johnson’s The White Witch, apparently “as promised.”  Dex didn’t mention any of it through the remainder of the summer.  The flow of texts and pictures increased, though, from their initial trickle to something pretty steady—reliable.  Nursey didn’t feel brave enough to ask what he’d said to cause that, but tried to take comfort in what seemed a lot like caring.

* * *

The drive back up to Maine should have been longer.  All too soon, though, William was taking the exit on I-95 toward Waldoboro.  He couldn’t pinpoint why this bothered him.

The house was the same—full of people and projects and chores.  His parents were the same—stoic and reserved and reactively conservative.  His sisters, at least, were different.  Siobhan had moved in with Roger; Kelly more openly chafed at parental restrictions; ‘Leen had grown and learned about sarcasm.

There was less space, too, for William.  ‘Leen groused about being moved out of his old room for the summer, but it felt small after the bigger room—even if there was just him in that one.  Jim was delighted to have William back at first, but suggested—once he’d worked through the backlog of tasks and was running out of things to do in the shop—that he try to find higher paying summer employment next year.  William fixed computers now, right?  Maybe there was someone in town who could use him for that kind of thing.  William spent a lot of time in the shop listening to the music Nursey had put onto his phone, doing his best not to worry about future employment.

The SMH group chat informed William of the Obergefell decision (Dex kept quiet on that one—anything he might say would be far too revealing).  That night—as news broke across Fox News on the TV in the living room, he and Kelly sneaked out of the house to celebrate at an IHOP two towns over.  They toasted—to the Supreme Court, to Ryan’s memory, to William’s grades—with shitty diner coffee.

He found the creepiest clipart lobster he could on google—it had people eyes and a cartoon nose—and sent that to Nursey.  One (1) lobster, as promised.

William tried to keep up a set workout regimen.  Working odd shifts—and covering for nearly all absences at Jim’s shop—meant that early mornings were the surest time to run.  Running then also helped avoid the heat.  Lacking a proper gym that wouldn’t cut into his summer earnings, he relied on sit-ups, pushups, and work with hand weights for the rest, usually in the evenings.

On nights James came over, though, William took his runs at supper time.  He denied it flat out when his Ma asked him if he was avoiding James.  She gave him a look that she knew it was bullshit, but pressed him no further.  He only had to see the pissah for church.  Talking with James made him miss Shitty wicked bad.

As a birthday present to ‘Leen, William got her a pair of tickets to Amanda Palmer’s show in Portland.  Kelly laughed at him over it, teasing that it was, at a minimum, a self-serving gift.  ‘Leen chose to give him the second ticket, even after he told her that he’d still happily drive her if she had someone else to take.

The concert was excellent, even if she didn’t play The Killing Type.  William sang himself hoarse, and his sister shouted the lyrics with him.  William came out to ‘Leen on the way back—she asked if that’s why he’d cried during Ampersand.  He denied any tears (lying, and they both knew it).  All the way home, she alternated between teasing him with AFP lyrics and demanding to know about the more or less non-existent boys in his life.  He barely succeeded in not telling her about Louis, just because he didn’t want to make her keep that a secret on his behalf.

William missed his Samwell friends—and whatever he and Louis were becoming.  He kept his phone on him at more or less all times, and spent much of his downtime texting them.  Louis flirted outrageously; Nursey sent poetry without explanation (after the first time he’d asked if Nursey had written it, non-Nursey poems got attribution); SMH was just generally ridiculous.  Shitty was ridiculous and educational.  After his Ma scolded him for his phone pinging constantly during dinner, he kept it on vibrate—and left it in his room for meals, at least.

Until, one night in early August, William’s phone rang at 2am.

‘H’lo?’

‘Dexy!  You picked up!’

‘More fool me.  It’s’ Dex checked the clock ‘two twelve, Nurse.  What the fuck.’

‘I missed you.  Missed people.  It’s quiet here again.  Echoey, like the empty palazzo I spent an afternoon in a month back.  Don’ like it.’

‘You could go to sleep.’ Dex knew this call would take a while.  And that the walls were only so thick.  He slipped into some shoes and stepped out onto the roof beside his window and into the tree that was the easy way down to the ground.

‘Nah—jus’ woke up.  Well, couple hours ago.  S’lunch time for me now.’

‘And instead of eating, or putting on music or something, you’re calling me.  To wake me up.  At quarter past two in the morning.’  Dex very carefully did not tell Derek he was drunk: there was no gain to be had there.

‘Yeah!  Darlene’s on a trip.  Sent her off from JFK myself.  Like… three? days ago.  Court dates with my father kept her busy once we got home to a brownstone full of items tagged his and hers.  Or mine.  My room is, like 90% mine, according to the tags.’

‘That much?’  Dex tried to sound sarcastic rather than worried.

‘Yeah, well.  I can never be completely my own.  S’not how it works, Dexy.’

‘No?’

‘No.’

‘Well, how are—’

‘Oh!  Before I forget—and I know I would, cuz I maaaaaay be a little drunk.  Don’t at me.’

‘At you.  That’s worse than hashtag, Nurse.’

‘You said it!  Hah!’

‘This thing you wanted to tell me before you forgot.’

‘Oh, right.  There—on the train.  On the way back from sending Darlene off to—wherever the fuck—I was on the train back.  And there was an empty seat, cuz it was, like, six in the morning and the sun was just moving on from sunrise.  And someone had left, like a fist-sized rose on the seat by the door.  Red as you when you blush.  Just, like snipped the flower from the stem or whatever and left it.’

‘Sounds poetic.  You should do a thing with that.  I demand credit for it.’

‘You get more credit than you know, Dexy.’

‘Oh?  Share a poem with me.’  Dex had meant it just to keep him talking, not really figuring Nursey would come up with anything either immediately or serious.

‘Felt those red lips burn and sear/ My body like a living coal;/ Obeyed the power of those eyes/ As the needle trembles to the pole;/ And did not care although I felt/ The strength go ebbing from my soul.’

‘What’s that from?’  Dex knew he was blushing, and blamed the sudden tightness of his chest on the sleep he was actively losing.  He tried not to let his breathing audibly change.

‘A poem I wrote a paper on at Andover.  S’about temptation—and how people can be risky.  I’ll send you a link when we’re done here.’

‘That’d be great, thanks.’

It took a while, chatting with Nursey to get him around to admitting to being lonely and structureless after what had apparently been a pretty intense trip.  He chirped Nursey enough, apparently, to get him to promise to look into learning to drive—without saying it’d provide structure—for the road trip he’d decided needed to be a feature of next summer.  He didn’t _quite_ agree to it, but drunk-Nursey might decide he had.  If he remembered.  Eventually, Nursey announced that Dex should go to sleep if he was going to keep yawning in their conversation, so they said their goodbyes.  Dex climbed the tree, took off his shoes, and went back to bed.

William was groggy as fuck the next day, and would say nothing about why.  Just tried to excuse himself as having slept badly.  Kelly gave him some serious side-eye and mentioned how the roof creaked sometimes at night, if the wind was right.  She didn’t press, though, because occasionally she was merciful.

After the call, Dex kept his phone on vibrate at all times, and started taking pictures of random things to send Nursey.  Nursey started sending poetry along with pictures—some of it Nursey’s own, some of it others of his favorites or things he wanted to discuss (or provoke reactions from Dex by sending).

Kelly was home only part of the summer.  She’d found a job near her school and was apparently rooming with Andy for the summer—Ma was scandalized, which added to Kelly’s amusement.  She was around, though, when Bitty’s care package arrived in early July, and devoured rather more than her share of the cookies.  William hoarded the chocolate pie to himself, only letting ‘Leen have a tiny slice of it.  She helped him guard it, after that.

William—miles away from the house on a late-night drive—told Kelly about Louis.

Later that summer, William took an afternoon to go visit Mrs. Donovan, who was overseeing summer school classes.  He didn’t announce himself—just knocked at her door like he had the first time.  Mrs. Donovan smiled and asked if he had detention to work off, so he played along.  They caught up while he helped her shelve books; he told her stories about hockey and the team and his relationship with Nursey.  And, inevitably, Louis.

In the end, it turned out that Maine hadn’t changed.  It was still hot and humid in the summer, all work and tourists and family underfoot.  William had never felt uncomfortable here, before—never quite wanted to ask the self-answering question “Is this it?”  They must be right, then—‘Leen and Jim and Kells—if Maine hadn’t changed, then Dex must have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Planes, it turns out, are really helpful for producing words. Much thanks to my little brother, for volunteering his name for use as Shitty's ('hey--you mind if I apply your name to a social justice hockey stoner?' | 'Nah, dude--go for it. Thanks for asking first.'); originally I had planned him to be Baldassario (because really: when starting to write a long-ish fic, the first-most-important thing to nail down is a suitably ridiculous name for Shitty).
> 
> Thanks for reading my variation on these idiot hockey boys so far. I've got a couple other major projects to poke at (a 5-years given wedding present, chiefly) before I start in earnest on Syn/Ack (Part 3), in which the pining finally kicks in completely. So this seems like a good coda for the moment.


End file.
